Tommy

Something has changed about Charles son Tommy. Then he hears Tommy begging for daddy’s cock as he mastubates, Every character is 14 or older

Charles paused outside Tommy’s bedroom door, his fingers hovering over the knob. The hallway was dark, save for the thin strip of golden light beneath the door—Tommy was still awake. The muffled sounds from inside were unmistakable: soft, breathy moans, the rustle of sheets, and then, clear as a bell, his son’s voice, trembling with excitement. *“Do it, Daddy… suck my baby cock.”*

Charles’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t even dared to hope. For weeks, he’d been wrestling with the heat in his gut every time Tommy stretched lazily on the couch, or laughed at some stupid joke, his whole body glowing with youth. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—fathers didn’t want their sons that way. Except, in their world, they did. And now, hearing Tommy beg for it…

The door creaked softly as Charles pushed it open. Tommy lay sprawled on his bed, sheets tangled around his waist, one hand lazily stroking his half-hard cock. His head snapped up, eyes widening—not with fear, but with exhilaration. “Daddy,” he breathed, and the word wasn’t a plea anymore; it was an invitation. Charles crossed the room in three strides, his own arousal pressing insistently against his slacks.

Tommy grinned, sharp and knowing. “Took you long enough,” he teased, arching his back just slightly, just enough to make the flush on his chest deepen. Charles swallowed hard. His son was beautiful—all lean muscle and smooth skin, his cock already thickening under Charles’s hungry gaze. “I thought you’d never come,” Tommy added, biting his lip.

Charles couldn’t hold back anymore. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, hands trembling as he reached for Tommy’s hips. “You wanted me to?” he asked, voice rough.

Tommy’s grin widened, his fingers tangling in Charles’s hair with a possessiveness that sent a jolt straight to his father’s cock. “Duh,” he breathed, tugging Charles closer until his lips hovered just above the flushed tip of Tommy’s erection. “Been begging for it every night. You just never listened.” The scent of him—warm, musky, undeniably young—filled Charles’s nostrils, and he groaned, nuzzling the inside of Tommy’s thigh.

The first lick was tentative, a slow drag of tongue from base to tip, savoring the way Tommy’s hips jerked. “Fuck,” Tommy whimpered, his grip tightening. “Don’t tease, Daddy.” Charles obeyed, swallowing him down in one smooth motion, relishing the choked cry it tore from his son’s throat. Tommy tasted like salt and sweetness, his cock hot and perfect against Charles’s tongue. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, and Tommy’s back arched off the bed, heels digging into the mattress. “Oh my god—!”

Charles pulled back just enough to murmur, “You like that, baby?” against his skin, and Tommy whined, nodding frantically. “Then tell me,” Charles urged, nipping at his inner thigh. “Tell Daddy how much you want it.” Tommy’s breath hitched—then he laughed, bright and breathless, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “I always want your cock,” he admitted, shameless. “Wanted you forever. Just… didn’t know how to say it.”

The confession punched through Charles like lightning. He surged back up, capturing Tommy’s mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing his gasp. Tommy kissed back eagerly, clumsily, his hands roaming over Charles’s shoulders, down his chest—then lower, palming the straining bulge in his father’s pants. Charles groaned into his mouth. “You’re sure?” he panted, though the answer was clear in the way Tommy was already fumbling with his belt. “Never been more sure,” Tommy insisted, eyes dark with want. “Want you in me, Daddy. Please.”

Charles’s fingers shook as he unfastened his belt, Tommy’s eager hands brushing against his own, impatient. The clink of metal hitting the floor seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room, and then Tommy was pushing Charles’s slacks down, his breath hitching at the sight of his father’s cock, thick and heavy with need. “Fuck,” Tommy whispered, wrapping his fingers around it, giving it a slow, experimental stroke. Charles hissed, hips jerking forward. “You’re huge,” Tommy added, almost reverent, and the awe in his voice made Charles’s chest tighten.

Tommy didn’t hesitate—he leaned in, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the head, tongue flicking out to taste the bead of precum there. Charles groaned, fingers tightening in Tommy’s hair. “You don’t have to—” he started, but Tommy cut him off with a laugh, breath warm against Charles’s skin. “I want to,” he insisted, and then he was swallowing Charles down, taking him deep in one smooth motion. Charles’s knees nearly buckled. Tommy’s mouth was hot, wet, perfect, his tongue swirling around the shaft as he bobbed his head, moaning around the girth of it.

Charles had imagined this—had dreamt of it—but nothing compared to the reality: Tommy’s lips stretched around him, his throat working to take him deeper, his fingers digging into Charles’s thighs for balance. “God, Tommy,” Charles gasped, hips twitching forward despite himself. Tommy hummed, the vibration sending sparks up Charles’s spine, and then he pulled off with a wet pop, grinning up at his father. “Your turn,” he whispered, flopping back onto the bed, spreading his legs shamelessly. “Fuck me, Daddy. I’m ready.”

Charles didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed the bottle of lube from Tommy’s nightstand—of course he had it ready—and slicked his fingers, pressing one against Tommy’s tight entrance. Tommy gasped, back arching, but his eyes never left Charles’s face. “More,” he demanded, and Charles obeyed, working a second finger in, scissoring them gently, marveling at the heat of him. Tommy’s cock lay hard against his stomach, leaking onto his skin, and Charles bent to lick a stripe up the length of it, savoring Tommy’s broken cry.

Charles withdrew his fingers slowly, watching Tommy’s hole flutter around the emptiness. His son’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his cheeks flushed with arousal, lips parted as he panted. "Please," Tommy whispered, his voice cracking with need. "Daddy, now." Charles slicked his cock with lube, his own breath coming in ragged bursts, the heat of Tommy’s gaze searing into him. He lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock against Tommy’s entrance, and Tommy’s legs wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

The first push was slow, deliberate, Charles savoring the way Tommy’s body resisted before yielding, the tight heat enveloping him inch by inch. Tommy let out a choked moan, his fingers scrabbling at Charles’s shoulders, his head tipping back against the pillows. "Oh god," he gasped, his thighs trembling. Charles paused once he was fully sheathed, letting Tommy adjust, pressing kisses along his collarbone, murmuring praise against his skin. "You’re so good," he breathed. "Taking me so well, baby." Tommy whined, hips shifting impatiently, and Charles chuckled, rolling his own hips in a slow, deep grind that dragged another desperate sound from Tommy’s throat.

When Tommy’s nails dug into his back, Charles finally began to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, harder this time, reveling in the way Tommy’s body clenched around him. Tommy cried out, arching off the bed, his cock bouncing against his stomach, flushed and leaking. "Fuck, Daddy—harder," he demanded, and Charles obliged, gripping Tommy’s hips to hold him steady as he fucked into him with increasing intensity, each thrust punctuated by Tommy’s gasps and moans. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with the wet slap of skin on skin, the room thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

Tommy’s hand flew to his own cock, stroking in time with Charles’s thrusts, his breath coming in shallow, frantic pants. "Gonna come," he warned, his voice strained, and Charles leaned down to capture his lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing Tommy’s whimpers. "Come for me," Charles growled against his mouth, snapping his hips forward with a sharp, brutal thrust that tore a scream from Tommy’s throat. Tommy’s back arched off the bed, his body seizing as he spilled over his fist, his orgasm ripping through him in waves, his hole clenching rhythmically around Charles’s cock.

Charles groaned as Tommy’s body convulsed around him, the rhythmic clenching of his son’s hole milking his cock with relentless pressure. He could feel his own climax building, a wildfire in his gut, but he forced himself to hold back—just a little longer—drinking in the sight of Tommy writhing beneath him, his lips swollen from kissing, his chest flushed and heaving. Tommy’s eyes fluttered open, dazed but still hungry, and he dragged Charles down into another kiss, his tongue sliding messily against his father’s. “Daddy,” he panted, breaking away with a gasp. “Come inside me. Please.”

The raw need in Tommy’s voice shattered whatever restraint Charles had left. He buried himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as his orgasm tore through him, his cock pulsing as he spilled deep into Tommy’s body. Tommy whimpered, his legs tightening around Charles’s waist, pulling him closer as if he could keep him there forever. Charles collapsed onto him, their sweat-slicked chests pressed together, his lips trailing over Tommy’s jaw, his throat, anywhere he could reach. “God, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “You feel incredible.”

Tommy giggled, breathless, his fingers tracing idle patterns down Charles’s spine. “Told you I was ready,” he teased, wriggling beneath him just to feel the way Charles’s spent cock twitched inside him. Charles groaned, nipping at Tommy’s shoulder in playful reprimand. “Brat,” he muttered, but the warmth in his voice betrayed him. Tommy grinned, stretching beneath Charles like a cat in the sun, utterly content.

They lay like that for a long moment, tangled together, Charles still buried inside Tommy, neither willing to pull away. Eventually, Tommy’s stomach growled loudly, and Charles chuckled, pressing a kiss to his forehead before finally shifting back. Tommy whined at the loss, but Charles caught his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on,” he said, tugging Tommy up. “Let’s get cleaned up. Then I’ll make you something to eat.”

Tommy’s legs trembled as he stood, his knees threatening to buckle, but he clung to Charles’s arm with a giddy laugh. “You wrecked me,” he accused, though his eyes sparkled with delight. Charles smirked, sweeping him into a kiss that tasted of sweat and salt, their bodies still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “You begged for it,” he reminded Tommy, nipping at his lower lip before pulling away to grab a damp towel from the ensuite bathroom.

The cool cloth against Tommy’s overheated skin drew a shudder, but he leaned into Charles’s touch, hissing playfully when the towel swiped over his sensitive inner thighs. “You’re mean,” Tommy muttered, but the way he arched into Charles’s hands betrayed him. Charles chuckled, wiping away the sticky evidence of their coupling with deliberate care, lingering over the bite marks he’d left on Tommy’s hips. “You love it,” he murmured, and Tommy’s answering grin was all the confirmation he needed.

Dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers borrowed from Charles—swimming in the fabric, the waistband rolled twice to keep them from sliding off—Tommy padded into the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tile. Charles followed, unable to tear his eyes away from the way the dim light caught the curve of Tommy’s spine, the faint tremor in his thighs. His. The word echoed in Charles’s chest, fierce and possessive.

Tommy hopped onto the counter, swinging his legs like a child, though the smirk he shot Charles was anything but innocent. “So,” he drawled, snagging a grape from the fruit bowl and popping it into his mouth. “How long’ve you wanted me?” The question was casual, but the glint in his eyes was sharp, curious. Charles paused, the knife hovering over the sandwich he’d been assembling. “Months,” he admitted, the truth slipping out before he could censor it. “Since you came back from summer camp. You were… taller. More confident.” Tommy’s grin widened, and he stole another grape, chewing thoughtfully. “Knew it,” he declared. “You got all weird and stiff whenever I stretched.”

Charles snorted, shaking his head as he spread mustard across the bread with more force than necessary. "And here I thought I was being subtle." Tommy's laughter filled the kitchen, bright and unselfconscious, his toes brushing against Charles's thigh where he stood between Tommy's knees. "You suck at subtle," Tommy informed him, plucking the knife from Charles's hand to swipe a finger through the mustard. He licked it clean with a smirk. "Kept catching you staring at my ass when you thought I wasn't looking."

The admission should've been embarrassing—would've been, in another life—but Charles just grinned, reclaiming the knife to slice the sandwich in two. "Can you blame me?" he countered, nudging Tommy's knee apart with his hip. "You've got a fucking perfect ass." Tommy preened, stretching his arms overhead with a pleased hum, the borrowed boxers slipping dangerously low on his hips. "Yeah, well," he said, voice dripping with faux modesty, "it's all yours now."

Charles's breath caught. The casual possessiveness in Tommy's tone—the way he said it like it was a given, like there was never any question—sent heat curling low in his gut. He abandoned the sandwich entirely, stepping between Tommy's legs to grip his thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin there. Tommy's breath hitched, his legs instinctively wrapping around Charles's waist as Charles leaned in, capturing his mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. Tommy melted into it, his fingers tangling in Charles's hair, his hips rocking forward in search of friction.

When Charles finally pulled back, Tommy chased his lips with a whine, his cock already half-hard again beneath the loose fabric of the boxers. "Insatiable," Charles murmured, thumbing the head of Tommy's cock through the cotton, grinning at the way Tommy's hips jerked. "You just came." Tommy rolled his eyes, but the flush creeping down his chest betrayed him. "Yeah, and?" he challenged, his voice cracking on the last syllable as Charles's thumb circled him again. "You gonna complain?"

Charles chuckled darkly, pressing Tommy back against the fridge with the weight of his body, the cool metal a stark contrast to Tommy’s feverish skin. "Complain?" he murmured, nipping at Tommy’s earlobe. "Not a fucking chance." Tommy gasped as Charles’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the boxers, fingers wrapping around his cock with practiced ease. "Daddy—" he whimpered, hips bucking into the touch, but Charles shushed him with another kiss, slow and deep, his thumb swiping over the leaking tip of Tommy’s erection.

The kitchen was silent except for Tommy’s ragged breaths and the faint sound of fabric rustling as Charles pushed the boxers down, letting them pool around Tommy’s ankles. Tommy’s legs trembled, his fingers clutching at Charles’s shoulders for balance as Charles dropped to his knees, his breath hot against Tommy’s thighs. "You’re ruining me," Tommy groaned, head thumping back against the fridge as Charles nuzzled the crease of his hip, his stubble scratching deliciously against sensitive skin. Charles smirked, pressing a kiss to the base of Tommy’s cock. "That’s the idea," he murmured before swallowing him down in one smooth motion.

Tommy’s cry was muffled by his own fist, his free hand tangling in Charles’s hair as his father worked him over with lips and tongue, alternating between slow, torturous sucks and quick, filthy bobs of his head. Charles reveled in the way Tommy’s thighs quivered, the way his hips jerked forward uncontrollably, the way his breath hitched every time Charles hollowed his cheeks. "Fuck, Daddy—gonna—" Tommy’s warning was cut off by a broken moan as Charles pulled off abruptly, leaving Tommy’s cock twitching in the air, flushed and dripping.

"Not yet," Charles said, his voice rough as he stood, crowding Tommy against the fridge again, his own erection straining against his slacks. Tommy whined, his hands immediately going for Charles’s belt, fingers clumsy with desperation. "You’re evil," he accused, but the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips betrayed his eagerness. Charles let him fumble with the buckle for a moment before catching his wrists, pinning them to the fridge above his head. "Patience," he chided, grinding his cock against Tommy’s thigh, relishing the way Tommy’s breath stuttered.

Tommy's lips parted with a gasp as Charles pressed him harder against the fridge, the chill of the metal seeping into his overheated skin. "Patience?" he echoed, voice high and strained. His hips rolled instinctively, seeking friction, his cock flushed and twitching against Charles's thigh. "Fuck patience, Daddy—I need your cock." The whine in his voice was sharp, almost petulant, but his eyes burned with a hunger that made Charles's gut tighten.

Charles chuckled, low and dark, his grip tightening around Tommy's wrists. "Need me how?" he murmured, lips grazing Tommy's jawline, teeth scraping lightly over his pulse point. He could feel Tommy's heartbeat rabbiting beneath his tongue, the way his breath hitched when Charles pressed a knee between his thighs.

Tommy squirmed, legs trembling, his cock smearing precum against Charles's slacks. "Inside me," he breathed, the words ragged. "Again. Now."

Charles groaned, his self-control fraying at the edges. He released Tommy's wrists, letting his hands slide down to grip Tommy's hips instead, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. "Turn around," he ordered, voice rough.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. He spun on unsteady legs, bracing his forearms against the fridge with a muffled *thud*, his back arching obscenely as he presented himself to Charles. The bite marks from earlier stood out starkly against his skin, already bruising in places—Charles’s teeth had been thorough. Charles ran a possessive hand down Tommy’s spine, savoring the way his son shivered under his touch. “Look at you,” he murmured, kneading Tommy’s ass with both hands, spreading him open to reveal his flushed, twitching hole. “Still loose from me. Still dripping.” Tommy whimpered, pushing back against Charles’s fingers, his hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles.

Charles spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly before lining up, the head of his cock nudging against Tommy’s entrance. Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers scrabbling against the fridge door. “Daddy—” The word was half-plea, half-demand, and Charles obeyed, driving into him in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a groan. Tommy’s body yielded easily, still stretched from their earlier coupling, but the heat of him was just as intoxicating. Charles paused, savoring the clench of Tommy’s muscles around him, the way his son’s breath came in shallow, ragged pants.

Then he pulled out almost completely, snapping his hips forward again with a brutal precision that punched a cry from Tommy’s throat. “Fuck—yes—” Tommy’s voice cracked, his forehead pressed against the fridge, his body rocking forward with each thrust. Charles set a relentless pace, his hands gripping Tommy’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, the slap of skin echoing through the kitchen. Tommy’s cock swung heavily between his thighs, leaking onto the tile, his moans growing increasingly broken with every snap of Charles’s hips.

Charles leaned over Tommy’s back, his lips brushing the shell of his son’s ear. “You take me so good,” he growled, biting down on Tommy’s shoulder as he pistoned into him. Tommy sobbed, his knees buckling, but Charles held him up effortlessly, fucking him through the tremors wracking his body. “Daddy, I—I can’t—” Tommy’s voice dissolved into a wordless keen as Charles wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.

Tommy's entire body convulsed, his muscles locking tight as Charles worked him mercilessly against the fridge. The slap of skin grew wetter, louder—Tommy's hole clinging desperately to Charles's cock with every withdrawal, his own erection pulsing in Charles's fist. "You can," Charles growled against the sweat-slick nape of Tommy's neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "You will. Come for me again, baby."

The command shattered Tommy completely. His back arched violently as he came with a punched-out cry, stripes of white painting the fridge door, his thighs trembling with the force of it. Charles didn't let up—he fucked Tommy through his orgasm, his thrusts turning jagged and uneven as Tommy's clenching muscles dragged him over the edge. With a groan, Charles buried himself deep, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside Tommy for the second time that night, warmth flooding between them.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—Charles slumped over Tommy's back, both of them panting, Tommy's fingers leaving faint crescent marks on the fridge. Slowly, Charles pulled out, watching with hooded eyes as his cum dribbled down Tommy's thighs. Tommy whimpered at the loss, his legs finally giving out, but Charles caught him easily, turning him in his arms. Tommy's face was flushed, his lips swollen, his eyes hazy with satisfaction. "Fuck," he mumbled, slumping against Charles's chest. "You wrecked me."

Charles chuckled, carding a hand through Tommy's damp hair. "You asked for it," he reminded him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Tommy grinned lazily, nuzzling into Charles's neck. "And I'll ask again," he murmured, his voice already thick with sleep. Charles's chest tightened at the casual promise in those words—again, like this was just the beginning.

The fridge hummed softly against Tommy’s bare back as Charles pressed him into it, their bodies still thrumming with aftershocks. Tommy’s legs wobbled, but he clung to Charles’s shoulders with a dazed grin, his fingers tracing the sweat-damp hollow of his father’s collarbone. "You’re insane," he breathed, voice hoarse. "Two rounds in an hour?"

Charles nipped at Tommy’s earlobe, hands roaming possessively down his son’s spine. "You asked," he reminded him, thumbs digging into the dimples above Tommy’s ass. Tommy shivered, his cock twitching feebly against Charles’s thigh—oversensitive but still impossibly eager. "Yeah, well," Tommy muttered, tilting his head to expose his throat, "maybe I like insane."

The admission hung between them, charged and giddy. Charles cupped Tommy’s face, dragging him into a kiss that was more teeth than finesse, Tommy’s moan vibrating against his lips. When they broke apart, Tommy’s eyes were glazed, his breath coming in shallow puffs. Charles smirked. "Sandwich first," he decreed, swatting Tommy’s ass lightly. "Then we’ll see about round three."

Tommy groaned but let himself be maneuvered onto a kitchen stool, his legs splayed wide as Charles retrieved the abandoned sandwich. He took a bite with exaggerated relish, mayo smearing at the corner of his mouth. Charles wiped it away with his thumb, then sucked it clean, watching Tommy’s throat bob. "You’re disgusting," Tommy informed him, kicking Charles’s shin under the table.

Tommy's toes curled against the tile as he swallowed another bite of sandwich, his legs still trembling faintly. The kitchen smelled like sex and mustard, the absurdity of it making him snort mid-chew. Charles arched a brow at him, and Tommy grinned, kicking his foot against his father’s calf again. "What?" Charles asked, swiping a crumb from Tommy’s lower lip. "Nothing," Tommy lied, licking his lips pointedly. "Just thinking about how domestic this is. You fucking me stupid, then making me a snack. Like some kinda—" He gestured vaguely with the sandwich. "Weird romance novel."

Charles laughed, deep and warm, his fingers trailing down Tommy’s bare thigh. "You want romance?" he teased, thumb brushing the inside of Tommy’s knee. Tommy’s breath hitched, but he rolled his eyes, shoving the last bite into his mouth. "Nah," he said around the food, swallowing hard. "Just saying. Most dads don’t feed their kids after railing them against the fridge."

The crassness of it sent heat flickering through Charles’s gut. He leaned in, pressing Tommy back against the counter, his hands bracketing his son’s hips. "Most dads," he murmured, "don’t get to fuck their kids." Tommy’s laughter was breathless, his legs parting instinctively as Charles crowded closer. "Lucky me," he sighed, tilting his head back as Charles’s mouth found his throat.

The sound of a car door slamming outside made them both freeze. Tommy’s eyes widened—mom’s home early—but Charles didn’t pull away. Instead, he bit down gently on Tommy’s pulse point, grinning at the way his son shuddered. "She knows about me," Charles reminded him, voice low. Tommy groaned, his fingers tangling in Charles’s hair. "Yeah, but she doesn’t watch," he muttered, even as his hips rocked forward, seeking friction.

Tommy’s breath hitched as footsteps crunched up the gravel driveway—too fast, too close. He shoved at Charles’s chest with one hand while the other scrambled for the discarded boxers pooled around his ankles. "Daddy—get dressed," he hissed, his voice cracking with urgency. Charles chuckled but stepped back, adjusting himself lazily as Tommy hopped off the stool, nearly tripping in his haste to yank the boxers up his thighs.

The front door clicked open just as Tommy managed to tug the oversized fabric over his hips, his cock still half-hard beneath the cotton. Charles casually leaned against the counter, arms crossed, looking far too composed for someone who’d just had their son bent over the fridge. Tommy shot him a glare, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—mayo, not cum, thank god—as his mother’s heels tapped down the hallway.

"Boys?" His mother’s voice floated into the kitchen, followed by the rustle of grocery bags. Tommy’s pulse rabbited in his throat, but he forced a grin as she rounded the corner. "Hey, Mom."

Sarah paused in the doorway, her sharp eyes flicking between them—Tommy’s flushed cheeks, Charles’s rumpled shirt, the *smell* of sex clinging to the air. Her lips twitched. "Mm. I see you two finally stopped dancing around each other." She dropped the bags onto the counter with a thud, nudging Tommy’s thigh with her hip. "Move, baby. I need to put the milk away before it spoils."

Tommy choked on air, his ears burning as he scrambled aside—only for his mother to pause, her fingers hovering over the fridge handle. She turned slowly, her gaze dropping to the faint smear of cum streaked across the stainless steel. "Oh, *Tommy*," she sighed, shaking her head. "At least wipe it down next time."

Charles coughed into his fist, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter as Tommy's face flamed. Sarah rolled her eyes, plucking a paper towel from the roll with practiced ease. "Honestly," she muttered, scrubbing at the fridge door, "I'd think you'd have some shame after—" She paused, squinting at the smear. "Two rounds?" Tommy made a sound like a deflating balloon, but Sarah just tossed the towel into the trash and turned to face them fully, her manicured hands settling on her hips.

"Well?" Her gaze flicked between them, lips curving into a smirk. "I assume this means you've sorted yourselves out?" Charles slid an arm around Tommy's waist, pulling him close despite his squirming. "Thoroughly," he confirmed, pressing a kiss to Tommy's temple. Sarah's laugh was bright, approving. "Good. Took you long enough—Mary owes me twenty bucks."

Tommy stiffened. "You bet on us?" Sarah waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't give me that look. Your sister's had a front-row seat to your pining for months." She leaned against the counter, tilting her head. "Speaking of which—" Her smile turned razor-sharp. "Now that you two have christened every flat surface in this house, I assume you won't mind if I finally make a move on Mary?"

Silence. Tommy's mouth dropped open. Charles's grip tightened around his waist.

Sarah arched a brow. "Oh, please. Like you didn't know." She tapped a fingernail against the marble countertop. "She's sixteen—older than Tommy was when your father started eyeing you." Tommy made a strangled noise. "Mom—"

Tommy's fingers dug into Charles's forearm like a lifeline, his mouth working soundlessly for a full three seconds before any words came out. "Mary?" The name cracked like glass across the kitchen tiles. His mother merely shrugged, plucking an apple from the grocery bag and polishing it against her blouse with deliberate calm. "She's been begging me to touch her since spring break," Sarah said casually, taking a crisp bite. Juice glistened on her lower lip. "Keeps 'accidentally' walking in while I'm changing. Leaves her panties in my laundry." She smirked around another bite. "Sound familiar, Tommy?"

Charles coughed into his fist, torn between amusement and paternal alarm—though the latter was admittedly hypocritical. His grip on Tommy's waist tightened as their son sputtered. "That's—she's my sister!" Tommy's voice pitched upward, his free hand flailing toward the hallway as if Mary might materialize. Sarah rolled her eyes. "And you're our son," she countered, flicking the apple core into the compost bin with perfect aim. "Yet here we are." Her heels clicked against the tile as she stepped closer, her manicured fingers tilting Tommy's chin up. "Darling, you literally just came on the refrigerator. Don't suddenly grow a conscience now."

Tommy's protest died in his throat when Charles's hand slid lower, squeezing his ass through the borrowed boxers—a silent reminder of the cum still dripping down his thighs. Sarah's smirk deepened. "Exactly." She turned to Charles, her hip cocked. "Well? Any objections?" Charles opened his mouth—then closed it. The hypocrisy would be staggering if their entire society hadn't normalized this for generations. He exhaled through his nose. "...She's happy about this?" Sarah's laugh was bright as wind chimes. "Oh, sweetheart. She left lube and a strap on on my pillow last Tuesday."

A thud from the hallway froze them all. Mary stood in the doorway, her cheerleading skirt riding high on her thighs, one pom-pom dangling from her fingers. Her eyes—the same hazel as Tommy's—darted between their tangled limbs, the fridge smear, her mother's smirk. Then she dropped the pom-pom and clapped. "Finally," she declared, marching forward to hip-check Tommy aside. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think Dad had performance issues."

Mary didn't hesitate—just dropped to her knees with the same practiced grace she used for cheerleading stunts, her fingers already hooking into the waistband of her mother's pencil skirt. Sarah's breath hitched as Mary yanked the fabric down her thighs, revealing the sheer lace panties beneath, dampness already darkening the fabric. "Christ, you're wet," Mary murmured, pressing her nose against the lace and inhaling deeply before looking up through her lashes. "Been thinking about this all practice, huh?"

Sarah's fingers tangled in Mary's ponytail, her hips jerking forward instinctively. "Since Tuesday," she corrected, voice rough. Mary's grin turned wicked as she peeled the panties aside with her thumbs, exposing Sarah's swollen folds. "Good," she purred, then leaned in without ceremony, her tongue swiping through Sarah's slick in one long, filthy stroke.

Sarah gasped, her knees buckling slightly as Mary's tongue delved deeper, lapping at her with the same enthusiasm she'd once reserved for ice cream sundaes. Mary hummed against her, the vibrations making Sarah's thighs tremble, her grip on Mary's hair tightening. "Fuck—just like that—" Sarah's head tipped back as Mary's tongue circled her clit, the pressure just shy of rough, exactly how she liked it. Mary knew—of course she knew—had catalogued every sigh and twitch during those "accidental" changing sessions.

Charles watched Sarah’s fingers tighten in Mary’s ponytail, his wife’s moans muffling against the fridge as their daughter devoured her with single-minded focus. He exhaled sharply through his nose and turned to Tommy, who was staring at the scene with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted. “We should leave them be,” Charles murmured, sliding a hand down Tommy’s spine to cup his ass, squeezing possessively. Tommy blinked, tearing his gaze away from his mother’s trembling thighs to meet Charles’s eyes. “But—” he started, then yelped as Charles swatted his cheek lightly and steered him toward the hallway.

Tommy stumbled forward, Charles’s hand guiding him with firm pressure, their bare feet padding against the hardwood. The sounds of Sarah’s escalating pleasure followed them—a sharp gasp, the wet slide of Mary’s tongue, the creak of the fridge door as Sarah braced herself against it. Tommy’s steps faltered, his head turning back instinctively, but Charles nipped at his ear, steering him down the hallway with a low chuckle. “Eyes forward, baby boy,” he murmured, his palm warm against the small of Tommy’s back. “You’ll get to watch next time.”

Charles’s fingers dug into Tommy’s hips as he spun him around in the hallway, pressing him face-first against the wall with a growl that vibrated through both their bodies. “Right now,” he murmured against the shell of Tommy’s ear, his breath hot, “I want that hot arse.” Tommy shivered, his skin pebbling under Charles’s touch, his breath coming in shallow pants as his father’s hands slid around to cup his ass through the loose fabric of the borrowed boxers. “Fuck,” Tommy breathed, arching back into Charles’s grip. “You’re insatiable.”

Charles chuckled darkly, nipping at Tommy’s throat as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband, pushing the boxers down just enough to expose the curve of Tommy’s ass. “You made me this way,” he accused, dragging his thumb over the still-sensitive rim of Tommy’s hole, slick with their earlier coupling. Tommy gasped, his forehead thumping against the wallpaper as Charles’s thumb pressed inside, just enough to make his knees wobble. “Daddy—” The word was half-protest, half-plea, but Charles ignored it, his other hand fumbling with his own belt buckle one-handed.