Author's Note: This combines the bi cuckold fetish with Mother/Son incest. It is for a particular audience so if that's not you, no shame in turning back now.
Special thanks to Don for his edits.
"You know, I'm going to miss this at A&M," Brad said as I handed over the essay I wrote for him.
Yeah, I did his homework for him.
"I'll see you tonight."
It had taken half the night to type up, an arrangement we'd had for the past few months. At least it had stopped most of the abuse. Brad was an asshole, but the kind that could be charming at the right moment. He was built, playing tight end for the football team, and able at the right moment to flash that broad grin and convince whatever adult that he was the real victim in these circumstances.
I'd known the guy all through high school. He'd always given me a hard time. The worst was after football practice. I mean, I'm sure I wasn't the smallest guy in the locker room. Alright, I wasn't winning any competitions at four inches, but at least I was a little larger than a few of the freshmen. But Brad teased me constantly about my deficiency.
And especially about my mother.
Get caught once at the movies with your mom and spend the rest of the year hearing the endless taunts from the rest of the team.
Worse... it was almost partially true.
Mom always seemed like she was destined to belong on the cover of some skin magazine during MILF month. She was tall, blonde, with naturally large breasts that drew everyone's attention. My dad died when I was only a baby, and I guess that made us unusually close. I never hid anything from her, except of course my fawning and completely inappropriate attraction to her body.
Mom sucked up the attention in the room. A natural beauty, she turned into an obsessively crass joke for all my male friends, to the point where I couldn't even invite them over. There already had been a few instances over the years that mortified me because of my mother's apparent lack of decency. Even with a friend or two over, she would regularly waltz around the house wearing little more than a towel. the tops of her breasts, still wet from the shower, would be nearly revealed as she casually asked what we had planned for the weekend.
I thought Pete's eyes would burst out of their sockets.
I never heard the end of it after that. He told the rest of the team, who regularly made jokes about my mother's lack of modesty. A few rumors went around wildly, each seeming to grow on the last. It didn't help that my mom showed up at every single game my senior year in a low-cut blouse, bouncing up and down every time we got the ball.
Leave it to a few horny teenagers to come up with the filthiest limerick's possible, chants they would yell across the field whenever they thought the coach wasn't listening.
I don't know, but it's been said.
Milton's Mom will give us head
Or
I can't stop, and I can't rest
Until I see his Mommy's breasts
Sound off - one, two. Repeated again and again, with different variations until I could barely take it.
Soon rumors abounded about who my mother was fucking on the team, with each waiting until I was near to go into graphic detail. At least the season was over, though the rumors persisted. The latest was that my mom could be seen skinning dipping in our pool at nights and that the guys would all hide in the bushes outside of my house, waiting for a glimpse.
Half the time my conversations with Brad and my teammates ended in pornographic suggestions on how they'd use my mother later. Of course, it was all bullshit. And every time they said suggestive things like "I'll be your new Dad" or "I can't wait to give you a brother" the image of my mother being used forced its way into my mind.
And I didn't hate it.
I let those thoughts linger.
Brad only said he'd see me tonight because his girlfriend was right next to him. Had he been alone, he might have said that he pulled a hamstring plowing my mom last night. Or had I noticed if my mom was walking funny this morning.
What else was I supposed to do? He was at least a foot taller than me.
At least it was getting better.
***
"Sure, whatever," I said.
The rest of the day droned on, until I found myself at home, spending the night painting Warhammer figurines for the tournament tomorrow. Lost in my own world, I let the mundane task consume me, focused on each plastic piece of armor as I ignored my need to actually be sexual with someone.
Maybe later tonight I'd leaf through a few Hustlers and read the sex stories with a forlorn longing for something I'd never get. Even looking at the pictures of those impressive cocks that doubled mine, made me remember my own deficiency in that area. I knew they were hardly representative, but neither was I. There had been enough male genitalia flopping around for me to know where exactly I dangled in the hierarchy, and my pole belonged at the base of the totem.
Looking at the alarm clock, I realized it was well past midnight. I needed to finish up if I wanted to be functional for the game in the morning. I went to the bathroom, washing the stains of blue and gold paint from my hands. I was in the hallway, thinking of heading to the kitchen for something to eat when I heard a splash.
Truthfully, I'd never given much thought to the rumors of guys watching from the bushes. I knew my mom swam often; she had been competitive in high school and claimed that the exercise helped keep her figure. But I'd never seen her skinny-dip. The thought of her doing that with me only a few doors away seemed ludicrous.
Besides, even the sight of her in a bikini was enough to send most men into a masturbatory fantasy. She never showed any semblance of modesty, as though she drew in every bit of attention no matter where we were. Even at water parks, she would wear this tiny bikini, the top barely covering her nipples, letting the tender places between the twin peaks remain completely exposed. Held up just right by the fabric, a man might imagine as much as he wanted.
I knew I had.
Even after swapping Hustlers and Playboys with my friends, I shamefully found my mother the best inspiration. There had been an entire summer that turned up my appreciation of her body even more. It was like she was trying to expose herself, taking every chance to wear anything that would show off her skin. Tank tops, cut-off jeans, sports bras, loose-fitting sundresses, anything to beat the Texas heat.
And cause the men around the block to beat off.
While her breasts were glorious, the bottom always worked on me worse. Not quite a thong, and yet the sides always seemed to ride up a little, exposing the full, round, outsides of her cheeks. Oftentimes, I wondered if I would be able to put these images out of my head if I just saw her nude. If then the obsession with her perfect body might leave my mind. If I would finally be able to stop wondering about those dark mysterious nubs protruding through the flaps of fabrics or that tender crevice between her cheeks.
Or if it would make it worse.
I snuck looks, nothing leering, nothing obvious, just little moments of appreciation. I figured it was harmless if a little Freudian. Of course, now that I knew of my mother's nocturnal adventures, it was hard not to wonder if there hadn't been a thread of truth in those teases. It wasn't that insane to think that a woman as alluring as my mom might decide to shed her suit within the privacy of her own yard without thinking of the dozens of teenage perves who might be watching.
We had a big enough house, with hedges out near the fence, but it would be easy enough to sneak in through the usually open gate. A guy might not even need to do that. There were plenty of holes. Hell he could even just be tall enough to see over the fence.
I wish I could say I thought about rushing out the front door and scattering any would be peeping Toms. That would have been far less perverted. No, my mind wondered right away whether or not I would be able to see my mom swimming in the water. If through the clear pool and the lighted deck I might make out the curve of ass, flexing in the water with each stroke.
Or maybe she would swim butterfly, on her back, her hands wheeling, her breasts heaving up and down with each practiced motion. I blinked, trying to force either image from my brain, to tear away invisible eyes from the warped whims of my erotic imagination. I couldn't stop, couldn't think of anything other than what might be happening only fifty feet away.
