Chapter 4: The Invitation
Bart’s phone buzzed in his pocket—again. He didn’t need to look to know it was her. The screen had been lighting up all afternoon with a relentless stream of texts, each one more desperate than the last.
*"Baby…"*
*"Mommy needs you…"*
*"Please… just come home…"*
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He should ignore it. Run. Keep sprinting until his legs gave out. But something—stupidity, guilt, some twisted filial obligation—made his thumbs move.
*"What do you want?"*
The reply was instant.
*"My room. Now."*
---
The hallway outside Brandi’s bedroom smelled like roses and something darker, muskier, *wetter*. Bart’s knuckles hovered an inch from the door. His gut screamed at him to turn around.
He knocked.
No answer.
He swallowed. "Mom?"
Silence. Then—
"*Come in…*"
The voice wasn’t her usual airhead coo. It was throaty, ragged, like she’d been crying. Or *worse*.
The door creaked open.
Her room was a nightmare of pink satin and dim, faux-candlelight. The bed—a mountain of frilled pillows and stuffed animals—was occupied by something that barely looked human.
Brandi was *sprawled*. Naked. Legs spread wide, her pussy *gleaming*, swollen beyond reason, lips parted in a constant, trembling *drip*. Her tits—those impossible, gravity-defying globes—were heaving, nipples hard enough to cut glass.
Her tongue lolled out.
"*Feed me…*"
Bart’s knees locked. "Wh-what?"
She didn’t repeat herself. Just *lunged*.
Her fingers hooked into his waistband and *yanked*. The sweatpants hit the floor with a whisper.
The *smell* hit him first—thick, sour, *male*—before the sight of it did. His cock, *obscene* even soft, swayed heavily between his thighs.
Brandi *moaned*.
She didn’t tease. Didn’t hesitate. Just *slammed* her face into his crotch, nostrils flaring as she inhaled like she was drowning in him.
"*Oh fuck—*" she slurred, her voice muffled against his skin. "*You stink… you stink so good…*"
Bart’s hands flew to her shoulders, pushing—*trying* to push—but she was *stronger*, her manicured nails digging into his hips as she *snuffled* along his length, whimpering like a starving dog.
Then her lips parted.
The *heat* of her mouth was a shock. Her tongue—wet, *greedy*—lapped at the underside of his shaft, slurping up the pre already beading at the tip.
"*Mom—STOP—*"
She didn’t. Just *gagged* herself on him, her throat bulging as she took inches, then *feet*, her nose pressing into his pubes, her cheeks hollowing as she *sucked*.
Bart’s vision whited out.
His hips jerked. *Hard*.
Brandi *choked*—then *giggled*, drool spilling down her chin as she pulled back just enough to gasp, "*Y-yes… gimme that big… nasty… cock…*"
Her hand replaced her mouth, *smacking* his length against her face, the *thwack* of flesh on flesh echoing in the perfumed air. She *snorted*, rubbing her nose along his shaft, her free hand *fingering* herself with sloppy, *squelching* strokes.
"*Gonna… gonna make mommy cum…*" she panted, her voice wrecked. "*Just like this… just from your… stinky… dick…*"
Bart couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t *think*.
His balls *ached*.
Then—
*Release*.
The first spurt hit Brandi’s forehead. The second, her parted lips. The rest—*gallons*, thick as eggnog, reeking of salt and *him*—flooded her throat, her tits, the bedspread beneath her.
She *screamed*.
Her back arched, her pussy *clenching* around nothing as she came, her juices *splattering* the sheets.
Bart stumbled back, his legs shaking.
Brandi collapsed, panting, her face *glazed*, her tongue licking lazily at the mess.
"*Mmm…*" she sighed, eyes fluttering shut. "*Just what mommy needed…*"
Bart ran.
Again.