Chapter 3: The Backyard Ambush
The backdoor slammed behind Derek with a finality that lasted about six seconds.
He stood panting in the weed-choked darkness of the backyard, the humid air sticking in his throat. It smelled of wet dirt, rotting leaves, and something else—something sour and familiar that made his stomach clench. Cheap cologne, old beer, the ghost of a dozen sloppy backyard hookups he’d tried to drown out with his pillow. His heart was a jackhammer against his ribs. He’d made it. He’d actually gotten out.
He shuffled toward the rusted aluminum shed, its corrugated walls peeling under the moonlight. Sanctuary. Maybe he could wedge himself behind it, wait them out until they passed out or called for pizza or something. He pressed his back against the cool, damp metal, letting the shadows swallow him. The silence was a relief. Just the buzz of night insects, the distant rumble of a garbage truck.
Then he heard it.
A soft, wet squelching sound. Then another. Like two large, overripe fruits being slapped together rhythmically.
He peeked around the edge of the shed.
They were a vision from a particularly deranged nightmare, silhouetted against the yellow glow of the kitchen window. Veronica, her tube top now twisted and dragged down on one side, revealing a pale, saucer-sized areola. Her massive ass, still glistening with patches of vegetable oil, jiggled with every determined step. Crystal hobbled beside her, one hand holding the shredded remains of her yoga pants up, the other outstretched like a zombie’s. They were both coated in a patina of drying fluids—Crystal’s explosive release, the oil, their own sweat. They moved with a single-minded, predatory focus, their heads low, nostrils flared.
“I smell him,” Veronica slurred, her voice thick. “It’s like… warm bread and shame. And pure, uncut dick.”
“He’s mine, Mom. You blew your chance. Literally, you blow everything.”
Derek froze. They weren’t tracking him by sight. They were tracking him by scent. His scent. A hot wave of humiliation flushed from his chest to his hairline. He tried to shrink smaller, but the shed offered no other escape. The broken birdbath, a concrete bowl full of stagnant rainwater and mosquito larvae, lay between him and the fence.
He made a break for it.
Three steps on the crunchy, leaf-littered ground and they were on him. Their heads snapped up. Their eyes, glassy with lust and leftover rage, locked onto him.
“There’s my shy boy,” Veronica cooed, her pace quickening to a wobbly trot. Her breasts swung violently, threatening to punch her in the chin.
Crystal let go of her pants. They slid down her oil-slick thighs with a sad, wet sound, pooling around her ankles. She didn’t seem to notice or care. “No more running, D,” she panted, a manic grin splitting her face. “We’re not mad. We’re just… really, really thirsty.”
They fanned out, cornering him against the chipped birdbath. The stench of them—vodka, perfume, sex, and now garden-variety corn oil—wrapped around him, cloying and inescapable.
“Just… just go back inside,” Derek stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He held his hands up, as if to ward them off. “Please.”
“Aw, he said please,” Veronica mock-swooned, pressing a hand to her chest. The movement made her exposed nipple bob. “Such a polite giant-dicked boy. Now let Mama see what she’s been missing.”
“Back off, hag!” Crystal snarled. She didn’t bother standing. She simply dropped to her knees in the mulch, the impact sending a fresh waft of earthy decay into the air. Her eyes were level with his waist. “I’m doing the honors. I earned it.” Her hands, quick as snakes, darted for the fly of his baggy basketball shorts.
“Crystal, don’t—!”
The zipper gave way with a sound like tearing metal. The button popped off and vanished into the weeds. His shorts, lacking any further support, collapsed around his ankles.
The night seemed to hold its breath.
For a split second, nothing happened. Then, freed from its cotton prison, Derek’s secret unfurled.
It wasn’t a gentle emergence. It was a gravity-defying, veined eruption. A monstrous, flesh-colored length of anatomy that slapped against the humid air with an audible, meaty thwump. It kept going, heavy and impossibly thick, the sheer weight of it causing a pendulous arc that ended with a wet, solid THWACK directly across Crystal’s waiting face.
The impact knocked her head back a little. She blinked, stunned. A thick strand of pre-cum, clear and viscous like egg white, now stretched from the bulbous, purplish head to her cheekbone.
A low, guttural moan vibrated in her throat. Her tongue, pink and practiced, snaked out. She lapped at the strand on her face slowly, savoringly, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Oh, fuck,” she breathed, the words dripping with reverence. “It’s like a trophy made of meat.”
“MINE FIRST!” Veronica bellowed, finding a burst of strength. She shoved Crystal sideways. Her daughter sprawled into the mulch with a yelp, her bare, oily ass gleaming in the moonlight.
Veronica dropped to her own knees, the impact juddering her entire body. She didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth, those famous, big lips stretching wide, and went for the head like a starving python tackling a baby goat.
It didn’t fit.
Her lips stretched around the corona, then stopped. Her eyes bulged. A frantic, gagging sound erupted from her throat, but she pushed forward, driven by a competitive hunger that overrode basic physiology. Spit flew in a sparkling arc. Her jaw made an alarming creaking noise. She managed to get maybe an inch of the massive glans into her mouth before her gag reflex seized control, and she jerked back, coughing and drooling.
“Pathetic,” Crystal hissed, scrambling back up on all fours. “You can’t even handle the tip. My turn.”
Derek looked down at the scene, a symphony of horror and overwhelming, unwanted stimulation. Their hands were on his thighs, his hips, clawing for purchase. Their heated breath washed over him. The sight of his own monstrous erection, glistening with both his own pre-seed and his sister’s saliva, standing proud between their desperate, grasping faces… it was too much. Mortification and a terrifying, volcanic arousal warred in his gut.
His gaze darted around, wild, looking for anything. Anything to stop this.
It landed on the green garden hose, coiled near the spigot on the side of the house. The nozzle was a cheap, pistol-grip type.
In one frantic movement, he leaned, stretched, and grabbed it. His fingers fumbled with the old, stiff spigot. It screamed in protest, then gave way with a metallic shriek.
Water exploded from the nozzle.
He didn’t aim. He just sprayed. A powerful, cold jet of water hit Veronica square in the left implant, then swept across both their upturned, lust-drunk faces.
“Gah! What the—!” Veronica shrieked, recoiling. Water flattened her hair and streamed through her caked makeup.
“My eyes! You little shit!” Crystal screamed, scrubbing at her face.
“Bad!” Derek yelled, his voice cracking with panic and authority he didn’t know he had. He hosed them down like feral cats on the porch. “Bad sluts! Down! Go on!”
They yelped and sputtered, shielding their faces, scrambling backwards on their hands and knees through the mulch. The water washed channels through the oil and sweat on their skin, turning the dirt beneath them to mud.
Derek stood there, chest heaving, the hose gripped in his trembling hand. The water arced through the moonlight. His gigantic, untouched dick, now beaded with cold water droplets, swayed slightly in the night air, looking both absurd and profoundly threatening.
The spray died to a trickle as he released the trigger.
Silence, broken only by their wet coughing and the distant drip of water from the birdbath.
Veronica wiped her eyes, smearing mascara into a raccoon mask. Crystal spat out a mouthful of lawn water.
But they weren’t looking at the hose. They weren’t even looking at his face.
Their gazes, wide and unblinking, were locked lower. On the glistening, moonlit monument that was their sole focus, their only purpose. The water had made it shine. It looked even bigger. Even more impossible.
Their hungry pants fogged the cool air. They didn’t get up. They just knelt in the mud, staring.
Derek felt a single, cold drip of water trace a path from the tip down the formidable length. He watched their eyes follow its progress with a devotion that was truly frightening.
The hose felt very small in his hand.