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Doug Bunker smiled.
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 pendik escort 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.
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-
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 maltepe escort 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.”
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.”
“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.
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.
“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 kartal escort 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.
“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.
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