Chapter 5: Family Bath Time
The plate of congealing grease was forgotten on the desk. Bunny shifted her tremendous weight on Eli’s lap, a slow, grinding rotation that drew a sharp gasp from him. Her thick, perfumed scent was everywhere.
“You’re all sticky, baby,” she murmured into his ear, her voice a lubricated purr. “Momma needs to get her boy clean.”
She heaved herself up, pulling him with her. Dolly and Daisy scrambled to their feet, their eyes bright with mimicked anticipation. Bunny took his hand, her fingers swallowing his, and led him from the basement bedroom, down a short, dark hallway to the main house’s master bathroom. Eli’s parents’ bathroom. They’d been gone a week on their cruise. The air here was different—laced with the ghosts of his mother’s floral perfume and his father’s antiseptic aftershave. Now, Bunny pushed the door open with her hip, flicking on the light.
It was a temple of gaudy marble and gold fixtures. And Eli had already defiled it. Pornographic magazines were fanned across the vanity. A laptop, paused on a scene of grotesque excess, sat on the closed toilet lid. The large, glass-walled shower gleamed.
“In you go, my beautiful son,” Bunny said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned the faucets, and steam began to billow, fogging the mirrors.
Eli shed his sweatpants. The three women watched, their expressions a gradient of empty devotion. Dolly and Daisy quickly shucked their own non-existent clothes. Bunny let the bathrobe fall from her shoulders. The sight of her naked in the harsh bathroom light was almost blasphemous—a pagan fertility idol planted in the middle of suburban cleanliness. Stretch marks webbed her heavy belly and thighs like silver rivers on a topographic map. Her breasts hung massive and veined.
She took his hand again and drew him into the shower’s scalding embrace. The water sluiced over him, hot needles on his pale skin. Dolly and Daisy slipped in after, the space becoming instantly cramped, a cage of slick, colliding flesh.
Bunny seized a bar of soap, working it into a thick, white lather in her enormous hands. “Let Momma wash you,” she cooed. She began at his chest, her hands moving in rough, possessive circles, soaping his narrow frame. Her thumbs rubbed over his nipples, pinching slightly. She dropped to her knees on the shower floor, the water plastering her blonde bob to her skull, and lathered his thighs, his calves, paying no special attention to his already-erect cock until the very last.
Her soapy hand closed around him, pumping slowly. “So dirty,” she whispered, her eyes glazed.
Dolly, seeing an opportunity, knelt beside Bunny and began lapping at the soap suds dripping from Eli’s balls with her flat, pink tongue. Daisy pressed herself against his back, her small breasts sliding across his spine, her mouth on his shoulder, biting playfully.
It was a symphony of wet noise—slaps, sucks, the drumming water, guttural moans. Bunny took him into her mouth, the soap burning faintly, her technique a crude, hungry suction. Eli’s head thumped back against the glass wall. He grabbed a handful of Dolly’s hair, guiding her face to his, and kissed her, tasting soap and her own distinct, vacant flavor.
“On your hands and knees,” he gasped, pulling away from Bunny’s mouth.
Dolly obeyed instantly, presenting her round, soap-slicked rear. Eli entered her in one thrust, the water making the glide effortless. The sound was a sharp, wet smack that echoed in the tiled enclosure. Daisy, giggling, crouched in front of her sister, and they kissed messily as Eli fucked Dolly from behind.
Bunny watched, her hand between her own legs, her fingers working in a frantic, circular pattern. “That’s it, baby,” she panted. “Fuck your little sister. Show Momma how strong you are.”
Her words, twisted and resonant, spurred him on. He pistoned into Dolly, his hips a frantic machine. Bunny maneuvered her bulk behind him, her hands on his hips, her mouth on his back, biting and sucking marks into his skin. She was everywhere, overwhelming, a hot, soft prison of flesh.
He finished inside Dolly with a strangled cry, his body seizing. She mewled, feeling it, and Daisy turned her head to lick the mingled fluids trickling down her sister’s thigh.
Eli slumped, breathing hard. The water began to cool. But Bunny was not done. She turned him around, her strength undeniable. She was on all fours now, a behemoth presenting herself, her ass a gargantuan, trembling moon.
“Your turn, baby,” she grunted over her shoulder. “Make Momma feel good.”
The sheer scale of her was intimidating. He positioned himself, pushing against her entrance. It was a tight, hot, impossible fit. He had to strain, shoving with all his weight. Bunny let out a guttural roar that was part pain, part ecstasy, as he sheathed himself inside her.
He fucked her with short, desperate strokes, the slap of flesh against flesh a thunderous, drowning rhythm in the shower. Dolly and Daisy, reinvigorated, pressed against his sides, their hands roaming his body, their mouths licking the water and sweat from his neck and arms.
Bunny’s face was pressed to the shower floor, her features contorted into a mask of slack-jawed ecstasy. Her eyes rolled back, her tongue lolling out, drool mixing with the spray. A crude, guttural noise built in her throat with each of his thrusts.
Then, during a particularly deep drive, her body clenched around him and a low, prolonged rumble vibrated from her core. It wasn’t a comedic toot. It was a visceral, organic expulsion of air, a deep, bass note of physicality that shuddered through her massive frame and into his. The hot, damp scent of her innards, muted by the steam and soap but unmistakable, bloomed in the enclosed space. Eli groaned, a sound of pure, degraded arousal, and drove into her harder, fetishizing the animal reality of it.
“Yes… yes… filthy boy… loves his filthy Momma…” she babbled, her voice broken.
His second climax was a raw, scraping thing, torn from him as he emptied himself deep inside her with a series of agonized shudders. He collapsed forward, his body plastered against her sweaty, mountainous back, slipping and sliding.
They lay there, a heap of exhausted, water-puckered flesh under the now-cold spray. The Dollies curled around them like kittens.
Slowly, Eli pushed himself up. He turned off the water. The sudden silence was broken only by their ragged breathing and the drip-drip from the showerhead. He looked around the ruined bathroom—steam-clouded, wet magazines dissolving into pulp on the floor, the lingering, intimate smells hanging in the humid air.
A slow smile spread across his thin lips. The basement had been his laboratory. This bathroom was now his spa. His gaze traveled to the door, left ajar, leading to the pristine, silent hallway of his parents’ empty house.
A month. They were gone for a whole month.
He stepped out of the shower, water pooling on the plush mat. He didn’t reach for a towel. He walked, naked and dripping, to the bathroom doorway. He looked down the hall toward the formal living room with its stiff, floral sofa. He looked toward the dining room with its unused crystal. He looked toward the carpeted staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms.
The hum of his basement servers was a distant whisper here. This was new territory. Untouched. Waiting.
“Girls,” he said, his voice echoing in the quiet house. “We’re moving upstairs.”