Chapter 8: The Pounding That Broke the Bed
The crawl from the kitchen to the master bedroom was a pilgrimage of three, a grunting, giggling, sticky procession. Derek stumbled along, pulled by greedy hands, his mind a blank static. The neon hell of the kitchen gave way to the deeper, muskier shadows of the hallway.
Veronica’s bedroom smelled like a locker room had a baby with a perfume counter at a strip mall. The cheap floral air freshener plugged into the wall fought a losing battle against the entrenched odors of body spray, old arousal, and that faint, metallic tang that lingered after a particularly enthusiastic night.
“The throne room!” Veronica announced, shoving the door wide. She gestured to the king-sized bed, its sheets a tangled, stained map of past conquests. A single, ripped fishnet stocking was draped over the wobbly brass headboard like a flag of surrender.
Crystal released Derek’s arm and bounded onto the mattress with a jump that made the whole frame shriek in protest. She landed on her back, her tiny top riding up, her bubble butt settling into a deep, familiar indentation. “Mom’s depression crater,” she smirked, patting the spot. “Come on, Der-Bear. Time to put this anomaly to practical use.”
Ververoica was already shimmying out of her yoga pants, which snapped against her massive BBL ass with a sound like a wet towel flick. “You get the honors of watching, brat. A mother knows how to break in a new toy.”
“The fuck I do!” Crystal scrambled to her knees.
Derek just stood there, a statue of embarrassed meat, as they bickered. They finally decided, with a series of slaps and pinches, that Veronica would go first—but only if Crystal could “help.”
He was pushed onto the edge of the bed. The mattress sighed, releasing a cloud of old powder and sweat. Veronica climbed over him, her gravity-defying tits swinging like pendulums in his face. She lowered her massive, surgically-enhanced rear, aiming the thickest part of her ass right at his lap. Her expression was one of intense, cross-eyed concentration.
“Okay, baby, just… just the tip for Mommy,” she breathed, reaching behind her to guide him.
There was no “just the tip.”
The purple, glossy head pressed against her, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, sweet merciful—!” She began to sink, a millimeter at a time, a low, continuous moan tearing from her throat. Her entrance strained, stretching in a way that looked physically impossible, forming a taut, shiny ring around the invading diameter. It was like watching a sock being forced over a cinder block.
She’d taken maybe three inches.
“You’re not even trying!” Crystal snarled. She planted her hands on her mother’s sweaty back and shoved down with all her petite might.
A sound ripped from Veronica that was part scream, part guttural roar of triumph. She sank another terrifying foot, her body swallowing him in a single, brutal descent. The bedframe emitted a sharp CRACK. Her head threw back, mouth open in a silent O before she found her voice again. “FULL! I’M SO FULL! IT’S IN MY SPLEEN!”
Crystal, cackling, didn’t stop. She mounted Derek’s face, grinding her sopping-wet, vice-tight bubble butt against his nose and mouth. “Suffocate on it, you secret-keeping dork!” she yelled, bouncing in time with her mother’s ragged, shallow thrusts. The world narrowed to the salty, suffocating heat of his sister’s ass and the sight of his mother’s body being violently remodeled above him.
The bed groaned in agony. Each downward slam from Veronica was met with a chorus of squeaks and splinters.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-BOOM.
It wasn’t a collapse. It was a disintegration. The central support gave out with a final, despairing shriek, and the world dropped six inches in a chaotic jumble of limbs, screaming, and flying bedding. They landed in a V-shaped crater of broken slats and protesting springs.
For a second, there was silence, broken only by the tink-tink-tink of a stray spring settling.
Then, movement.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Veronica panted, impaled on a downward angle, a rusty coil poking her thigh. She began to move again, lifting herself with a grunt and slamming back down, the broken bedframe screeching in protest beneath them. “It’s… it’s hitting places! New places!”
Crystal, having tumbled off Derek’s face, recovered and scrambled. She didn’t go for his dick. She went for the source. She wriggled down between the wreckage and his legs, wrapped her lips around one of his enormous, aching balls, and began to suckle noisily, her hand working the other in a frantic rhythm.
The sensation was too much. The pressure, the ruin, the sheer, sloppy desperation of it all. Derek felt the familiar, volcanic build, but it was different this time—deeper, heavier.
Veronica felt the change inside her. Her eyes bugged out. “He’s gonna—! I’M GONNA—!”
She wasn’t lying. Her body clamped down in a series of violent, convulsive spasms. Then she let loose. A jet of clear fluid shot out from around the stretched, plugged base of his shaft with the force of a firehose. It arced up, spattering the spinning blades of the ceiling fan with a sound like frying rain. The fan dispersed it, creating a fine, misty drizzle that fell back down over the three of them.
The scent of warm, musky copper filled the air.
Crystal, soaked from the golden shower from above, screamed around the ball in her mouth. Her own orgasm hit her like a seizure. Her back arched violently, her toes curled, and her eyes rolled back so far into her head they disappeared. She simply… short-circuited. Her body went limp, her jaw slack, releasing his ball with a wet pop. She lay still for a three-count, unconscious, a blissed-out smile on her sticky face.
Then her eyes snapped open. She blinked, dazed, droplets of her mother’s climax clinging to her eyelashes. Without a word, as if programmed, she dragged herself back down and resumed sucking, her movements slow, lazy, and utterly devoted.
Ververoica, spent and trembling, slid off him with a wet, cavernous shloop. She collapsed onto the ruined mattress, staring at the spattered ceiling fan as it dripped onto her. “I think,” she panted, “I think you rearranged my furniture, baby.”
Derek lay in the wreckage, springs digging into his back, two spent but insatiable women nestled against him in the humid, broken dark. The monster between his legs, slick with mixed fluids, twitched. It was not done.
Crystal felt it. She lifted her head from his balls, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his skin.
“Round three?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
The fan dripped. The bed creaked. The story, somehow, was just beginning.