They returned Sunday night bronzed, sated, and reckless.
Elena's skin still carried the faint imprint of Alex's fingers on her hips; Alex's neck bore a faint bruise from her teeth.
They walked into the house like conquerors, Mark's oblivious *"How was the cabin?"* floating past them like smoke.
"Peaceful," Elena said, voice honey-smooth.
She kissed Mark's cheek, then let her hand brush Alex's lower back as she passed—hidden from view, but the touch sparked heat straight to her core.
Her pussy, still tender from two days of relentless fucking, gave a lazy clench.
A trickle of Alex's last load slipped free, sliding warm down her inner thigh beneath her sundress.
She didn't wipe it away.
She *savored* it.
That night, Mark tried again.
He rolled toward her in bed, hand fumbling under the sheets.
She let him.
Let him kiss her neck with stale breath, let his tiny cock nudge her thigh like a child's toy.
When he pushed inside, she felt *nothing*.
No stretch. No heat. Just a faint pressure, gone in thirty-seven seconds.
He grunted, rolled off, and was snoring before his cum even cooled on her skin.
Elena stared at the ceiling, thighs slick with Alex's seed and now Mark's pathetic dribble.
She slipped from bed, robe loose, and padded to Alex's room.
He was waiting—door ajar, cock in hand, stroking slow.
She didn't speak.
Just climbed onto the bed, straddled his face, and sank her dripping pussy onto his mouth.
He groaned into her folds, tongue lapping up the mix of his own cum and Mark's, cleaning her like it was his right.
She ground down, tits bouncing, hands braced on the headboard.
When she came, it was silent—body shaking, pussy gushing into his mouth.
He flipped her, slid into her still-spasming cunt, and fucked her slow and deep until she came again, biting the pillow to muffle her screams.
Monday blurred into Tuesday.
The risk escalated.
**The laundry room at 2 p.m.**
Mark in his home office, door closed, on a conference call.
Elena folded towels. Alex slipped in behind her, lifted her skirt, and entered her in one slick thrust.
She bent over the dryer, tits pressed to warm metal, ass high.
He fucked her in short, brutal strokes—hand over her mouth, cock dragging against her G-spot.
She came hard, pussy squirting down his balls, soaking the floor.
He pulled out, came across her ass, then used a towel to wipe her clean before slipping out.
Mark's voice drifted down the hall—*"Yes, the Q3 numbers look solid."*
Elena smiled, thighs trembling.
**The garage at 6:03 a.m.**
Mark in the shower.
Elena "helping" Alex load his gym bag.
She dropped to her knees behind the SUV, took him deep, throat working.
He came in under two minutes—hot, thick ropes down her throat.
She swallowed, licked him clean, then stood and kissed him with cum still on her tongue.
Mark's shower shut off.
They parted without a word.
**Wednesday – the first real crack.**
Mark came home early again.
Elena was in the kitchen, bent over the open fridge, dress riding high.
Alex stood behind her, cock buried to the hilt, one hand on her hip, the other rubbing her clit.
She was mid-orgasm—pussy clenching, a low moan escaping—when the front door opened.
They froze.
Alex pulled out fast, cock glistening.
Elena straightened, dress falling, but not before Mark stepped in and *saw*.
Not the act—but the flush on her cheeks, the way Alex's jeans were half-zipped, the unmistakable scent of sex in the air.
"What the hell's going on?" Mark asked, voice sharp.
Elena turned, smile bright. "Alex was helping me reach the top shelf. I dropped a jar—made a mess."
She gestured vaguely at the floor. A puddle of her squirt, still fresh.
Mark frowned, but his phone buzzed. He answered it, distracted, and walked away.
Close.
Too close.
That night, Mark confronted her.
Not with proof—just suspicion.
"You've been… different. Distant. And Alex—he barely looks at me."
Elena played the loving wife.
Touched his arm.
"Stress, honey. Work. Alex has finals. We're all stretched thin."
She let him fuck her again—missionary, lights off, her eyes on the ceiling.
Forty-one seconds.
She faked a moan, then lay awake, pussy aching for the real thing.
Thursday, Alex texted her from campus:
**Basement. Midnight. Bring the blindfold.**
She did.
Mark took a sleeping pill—his snoring started at 11:47.
Elena slipped downstairs in a silk robe, blindfold in hand.
The basement was dark, cool.
Alex waited on the old couch, naked, cock hard and waiting.
She tied the blindfold herself, then let him guide her.
He laid her back, spread her legs, and ate her slow—tongue tracing every fold, sucking her clit until she was sobbing into her own hand.
Then he fucked her—slow, deep, relentless.
The blindfold heightened everything: the stretch of his cock, the slap of his balls, the way her tits bounced with every thrust.
She came three times—gushing, screaming into a pillow he'd brought down.
He finished inside her, then flipped her, ate her cum-filled pussy until she came again.
Friday, Mark announced a weekend work trip.
Elena's heart leapt.
But then—he hesitated.
"I think I'll take Alex. Male bonding. He's been… off."
Alex's eyes met hers across the table.
Panic.
Hunger.
*No.*
Elena smiled, sweet and calm.
"Actually, honey, Alex promised to help me with the yard. Big project. Rain check?"
Mark grumbled but agreed.
The second his car pulled away, they were on each other.
No pretense.
No hiding.
They fucked on the stairs, in the hallway, on Mark's pillow—leaving her squirt and Alex's cum as a silent *fuck you*.
They showered together, then fucked again in the steam.
By Sunday, the house reeked of them.
Elena opened windows, sprayed Febreze, but the scent lingered like a brand.
Mark returned Sunday night.
Quiet.
Watchful.
He didn't touch her.
Didn't speak to Alex.
Just watched.
Monday morning, Elena found a note on the kitchen counter.
Mark's handwriting.
**We need to talk. Tonight.**
Her stomach dropped.
But between her thighs, her pussy throbbed—wet, ready, *alive*.
She looked at Alex across the room.
He nodded once.
Whatever came next, they'd face it together.
Obsession had become love.
Love had become need.
And need?
Need would burn the whole fucking house down before it let go.
The house was silent after dinner.
Too silent.
Mark had barely touched his food.
Elena's pulse thrummed in her throat, between her legs, in the tips of her nipples.
Alex sat across from her, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
When Mark finally spoke, his voice was low, controlled.
"Living room. Now. Both of you."
They followed.
Elena's bare feet sank into the carpet.
She wore a thin cotton dress—no bra, no panties, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin.
Her pussy was already wet.
Not from fear.
From the memory of Alex bending her over the bathroom sink that morning, fucking her slow while Mark showered ten feet away.
From the way Alex's cum still leaked from her, a slow, warm trail down her inner thigh.
Mark stood by the fireplace, arms crossed.
The family photos on the mantel stared down: wedding day, vacations, Alex's graduation.
All lies now.
"I know," Mark said.
No preamble.
No yelling.
Just flat, cold certainty.
Elena's breath caught.
Alex didn't flinch.
"I *know*," Mark repeated.
He pulled out his phone, turned it toward them.
A video.
Grainy.
Security cam from the garage.
Tuesday.
Elena bent over the hood of Alex's car, dress flipped up, tits out, ass high.
Alex behind her, cock buried deep, hips rolling.
Her mouth open in a silent scream.
The audio was off, but the image was unmistakable.
Elena's knees weakened.
Not from shame.
From the raw, filthy beauty of it.
She looked *wanton*.
*Alive*.
Alex looked like a god claiming what was his.
Mark's voice cracked.
"How long?"
Elena met his eyes.
No more lies.
"Since your first business trip. The week you left us alone."
Mark flinched like she'd slapped him.
"And you?" he snarled at Alex.
"You fuck your own *mother*?"
Alex stood.
Tall.
Unapologetic.
"I love her," he said simply.
"Not like a son.
Like a man loves a woman.
She's mine."
Mark laughed—bitter, broken.
"You're sick. Both of you."
Elena stepped forward.
Her voice was soft, but steel ran through it.
"No, Mark.
*You're* the sick one.
You, with your tiny cock and your two-second finishes.
You, who never made me come once in twenty years.
You left me starving.
Alex *fed* me."
Mark's face went white.
Then red.
He lunged—not at Alex, but at her.
Hand raised.
Alex moved like lightning.
Caught Mark's wrist mid-air, twisted, and shoved him back into the armchair.
Hard.
"Don't. Touch. Her."
Mark stared up at them, breathing ragged.
The power had shifted.
Irreversibly.
Elena knelt in front of Mark—not submissive.
*Dominant*.
She placed a hand on his knee.
"You have two choices," she said calmly.
"One: You leave. Quietly. We give you the house, the savings, whatever you want. You disappear. You tell your friends I left you. You never speak of this again."
She leaned closer.
"Two: You stay. You watch. You *learn*.
Because I'm not stopping.
I'll fuck him on this couch. On your bed. In your shower.
And you'll sit there with your pathetic little dick in your hand and *wish* you could make me feel half of what he does."
Mark's mouth opened.
Closed.
Tears welled, but didn't fall.
Alex spoke from behind her, voice low.
"Choose, Dad.
But know this:
She's pregnant."
The room went still.
Elena hadn't known.
Not for sure.
But the missed period, the tenderness in her breasts, the way her body *craved* him deeper, harder, like it was trying to root him inside her…
She turned slowly.
Met Alex's eyes.
He nodded.
*Planned.*
*Wanted.*
Mark made a sound—half sob, half scream.
He stood, shaky.
Looked at the woman he'd married—glowing, radiant, *claimed*—and the son who'd taken her.
Then he walked to the door.
Grabbed his keys.
Didn't look back.
The door slammed.
Silence.
Then—
Elena laughed.
Not cruel.
*Free.*
She turned, launched herself at Alex.
He caught her, hands under her ass, lifting her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
They kissed—deep, filthy, desperate.
Tears on her cheeks.
His.
Hers.
Didn't matter.
He carried her to the couch.
Laid her down.
Pushed her dress up.
Spread her thighs.
Her pussy—swollen, glistening, *his*—welcomed him home.
He entered her slow.
Bare.
Deep.
She gasped, arching, hands clutching his back.
"Say it," he growled against her neck.
"Tell me."
"I'm yours," she moaned.
"Forever.
Your cock.
Your baby.
Your *everything*."
He fucked her like a promise.
Slow.
Then hard.
Then slow again.
Her tits bounced.
Her pussy creamed.
She came with his name on her lips, squirting around him, soaking the cushions.
He followed—deep, pulsing, flooding her womb with the life they'd already made.
Later—hours later—they lay tangled on the floor.
The house was theirs now.
Truly.
No more hiding.
No more lies.
She rested her head on his chest.
Hand splayed over her belly.
Felt the faint flutter—too early, but she *knew*.
"We'll need a bigger place," she murmured.
"Room for three."
He kissed her hair.
"Already looking.
Somewhere with a big bed.
A big kitchen.
A big life."
She smiled.
Closed her eyes.
The obsession had burned everything down.
And from the ashes?
Something real.
Something *theirs*.
The hunger hadn't ended.
It had only just begun.