Chapter 7: FEED THE BEASTS
The kitchen air, already thick with the smell of sweat and regret, became a church. Their gasps were prayers.
For a beat, they just stared, their hungrily parted lips dripping saliva onto the greasy linoleum. The monstrous reality of it, up close, seemed to short-circuit their competitive wiring. It wasn’t just big. It was a geological formation, veined like marble, throbbing with a low heat that they could feel on their faces.
Veronica recovered first. Motherhood, even this kind, had its privileges.
“My sweet boy,” she cooed, her voice trembling with awe. Her giant, coral-pink talons hovered, not daring to touch, as if it were a holy relic. “All this time… you were hiding a national treasure.”
“Move your wrinkly claws, Mom,” Crystal hissed, but the usual bite was softened by pure want. She leaned in, her nose twitching at the potent, musky scent radiating from it. “God, it smells like… victory. And like, a really strong goat.”
Derek made a sound halfway between a whimper and a groan. He braced himself against the fridge, its hum a constant vibration against his palm. The blush on his cheeks was nuclear. This was it. The secret center of his shameful world, now exposed under the cruel fluorescent light of the kitchen, with a half-eaten sandwich rotting on the counter beside them.
Veronica took the initiative. With a reverence she reserved for two-for-one vodka shots, she leaned in and, using only her obscenely inflated lips, gave the bulbous, purple head a gentle, worshipful kiss. It wasn’t sexual. It was ceremonial. A christening.
“Mine,” she breathed against the slit.
“Fuck that,” Crystal spat, and the spell broke.
Chaos erupted.
It was a duel of tongues. Crystal lunged, aiming to engulf the tip, but Veronica shoved her face in sideways, aiming to slick up the formidable shaft with a broad, sloppy stroke. They collided, foreheads knocking together with a dull thunk. A string of drool bridged between their cheeks.
“I said the head is MINE, you greedy old hag!”
“You get what you earn, you cum-guzzling gnat!”
They compromised in the worst way possible. They both opened wide and tried to take as much as they could from opposite sides. Their cheeks hollowed obscenely, their jaws unhinging with audible pops. They couldn’t come close to taking it all. It was like two kittens trying to nurse on a fire hydrant.
The sounds were apocalyptic. Wet, sloppy gagging. Choked curses that bubbled around flesh. The scrape of teeth on sensitive skin that made Derek jump. Veronica’s entire body shook with the effort, her bolt-ons mashing against the veined column. Crystal’s tiny hands clawed at her mother’s hair, trying to yank her off, while her own throat convulsed around what little she could manage.
“Balls!” Crystal gasped, tearing herself away with a slick pop. “Forgot the balls!”
She dove underneath, where Derek’s massive, softball-sized sack hung heavy and full. She nuzzled it, her eyes rolling back. “So full,” she moaned, her voice muffled by skin. “Like stress balls filled with pudding.” She licked a broad stripe, then tried to take one into her mouth. It was a struggle, a comical stretching of her jaws.
Veronica, not to be outdone in the worship department, released the shaft with a gasping breath and slid down, burying her face in the other side. They were nose-to-nose through the thick curtain of his sack, slurping and sighing like animals at a trough.
Derek’s legs trembled. The sensory overload was blinding. The heat of their mouths, the scratch of their frenzied tongues, the sight of his own monstrous anatomy being treated like a buffet by his family—it short-circuited every nerve. A deep, tectonic rumble started in his gut.
“I’m… I’m gonna…” he stammered, his voice a broken thing.
They understood. In a flash, they were back up, faces glistening with spit and desperation, lips swollen to cartoonish proportions. They positioned themselves like baby birds beneath a giant, mutant worm.
It wasn’t a stream. It was a geyser.
The first thick, pearlescent rope didn’t land in a mouth. It painted a stripe across Veronica’s forehead and into her bleach-fried hair. The next blast caught Crystal squarely on the chin, splattering up her nose. They squealed—not in disgust, but in triumph.
“OPEN WIDE, CRYSTAL, DON’T WASTE IT!”
“YOU OPEN WIDE, YOU COUGAR!”
They craned their necks, mouths gaping, tongues outstretched. The subsequent pulses were torrential, a relentless, milky flood that filled Veronica’s mouth in an instant, overflowed down her chin, and drenched her chest. Crystal got her share, a direct hit that choked her for a second before she managed to swallow convulsively, only for more to immediately replace it, leaking from the corners of her stretched lips.
It kept coming. And coming. It coated their faces, glued their eyelashes together, pooled in the hollow of Veronica’s collarbone. The kitchen now smelled of salt and sex and burnt bacon.
When the shuddering finally stopped, they were a masterpiece of filth. They panted, dripping, their makeup running in clownish streaks.
The silence was broken by a wet, deliberate swallow from Veronica. She looked at Crystal, her eyes sparkling with madness. Then, she leaned forward and licked a thick dollop of spunk from her daughter’s cheek.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “Tastes like… potential.”
Crystal, furious and horny, retaliated. She grabbed her mother’s head and mashed their mouths together in a sloppy, cum-swapping kiss. It was less a kiss and more of a viscous, noisy trade agreement. They groaned into each other, sharing the load, their tongues fighting over the last drops.
They broke apart, breathless, more of Derek’s mess now smeared between them. Their eyes, hazy and satisfied for a nanosecond, dropped back down.
It was still there. Thick. Veiny. Unbent. Dripping with their spit and his own release, but utterly, defiantly hard.
The dripping slowed. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the fridge’s slutty hum.
Veronica looked at the untouched pole, then at her daughter’s wrecked face, then back at Derek’s terrified, excited eyes.
A slow, dizzy smile spread across her sticky lips.
“Okay, baby,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Round one was for tasting.”
Crystal wiped her chin, her expression shifting from post-coital bliss to renewed, vicious hunger. “Yeah,” she rasped. “Now… now we get serious. Right, Derek?”
They didn’t wait for an answer. They started crawling forward again, their movements slower now, more purposeful, eyes locked on the prize that refused to fall. The war for dominion was over. The collaboration had just begun.