r/FantastyFreakyFiction

Marcus Jackson was nineteen years old and already drowning in a hunger that no girl his age could satisfy.
He was tall for his age, six-foot-one, with the lean, hard muscle of a college freshman who still played intramural basketball and lifted weights three times a week. Deep brown skin, short natural curls, a soft mouth that girls liked to kiss and a thick, heavy cock that most of them struggled to take. He was home for spring break, staying in the same little brick house in Simpson, North Carolina where he had spent every summer of his childhood.
The house belonged to his grandmother, Evelyn Jackson.
Evelyn was sixty-five, a retired church secretary, a woman who still went to Bible study every Tuesday and Thursday morning in a modest blouse and long skirt. Her hair was mostly silver now, kept in a neat bun. Her face still held the soft beauty of her younger years—high cheekbones, full lips, warm dark eyes that could silence a room with one look. Her body, though, had only grown more dangerous with age. Wide hips, a thick, soft ass that filled out every dress she owned, and a heavy pair of natural breasts that had never been small. Even now they sat full and low on her chest, soft and dense, the kind of mature tits that swayed heavily when she walked and strained every bra she owned. Marcus had been staring at them for years.
He dreamed about them almost every night.
In his dreams she was never the proper church grandmother. She was naked, oiled, spread open on her bed while he sucked those heavy tits and fucked her slow and deep. He would wake up hard and aching, then stroke himself under the covers until he came in thick ropes across his stomach, whispering “Grandma…” into the dark like a prayer.
This morning was no different.
Marcus woke at six-thirty with his cock already stiff and leaking against his thigh. He could hear Evelyn moving around in her bedroom down the hall—the soft shuffle of slippers, the creak of the old wooden floor. Bible study started at eight. She always left early.
He told himself he was just going to the bathroom.
He wasn’t.
The hallway was quiet. Her door was cracked open just enough. Marcus stopped, heart hammering, and looked inside.
Evelyn stood with her back to him, completely naked.
Her silver-streaked hair was still down, falling past her shoulders. Her thick ass was round and soft, dimpled slightly at the sides. When she turned slightly to reach for the lotion on her dresser, Marcus saw everything. Heavy, full breasts that hung low and soft, wide dark areolas, thick nipples already half-hard from the cool morning air. Her belly was soft and rounded, her hips wide, the dark patch of hair between her thighs neatly trimmed. She looked like every forbidden fantasy he had ever had, made flesh.
She saw him in the mirror.
For one frozen second neither of them moved.
Evelyn’s eyes widened. Her hands started to rise to cover her breasts, but Marcus stepped into the room and closed the door behind him before she could.
“Marcus—” she started, voice soft with shock.
He crossed the space between them in three long strides. His hands closed over hers, stopping her from covering up. Up close she smelled like the rose lotion she had been about to put on, mixed with the warm, clean scent of her skin.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Please… just don’t cover up.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched. She looked at her grandson—at the hard outline of his cock tenting his gray sweatpants, at the raw hunger in his eyes—and something in her expression shifted. The shock didn’t disappear, but underneath it something older and deeper stirred.
“Baby… this is wrong,” she said, but her voice was already softer, already losing its strength.
Marcus lowered his head and pressed his face between her heavy breasts. The soft, warm weight of them closed around his cheeks. He inhaled hard, then opened his mouth and sucked one thick nipple between his lips.
Evelyn gasped.
Her hand flew to the back of his head, not pushing him away but holding him there. Marcus sucked harder, tongue swirling around the stiff peak, tasting the faint salt of her skin. He switched to the other breast, sucking just as greedily, while both of his large hands cupped and lifted the heavy globes, feeling their soft, dense weight.
“Marcus… oh Lord…” Evelyn’s voice trembled. Her fingers tightened in his curls.
He kept sucking, wet and loud, until both nipples were shiny and stiff. Then he dropped to his knees on the soft rug in front of her. He pressed open-mouthed kisses down her soft belly, then lower, until his face was between her thick thighs. He looked up at her once—eyes dark with pure lust—before spreading her soft pussy lips with his thumbs and dragging his tongue through her already slick folds.
Evelyn’s head fell back. A low, broken moan left her throat.
Marcus licked her slowly at first, savoring the taste of her—warm, slightly sweet, uniquely her. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it gently between his lips. Evelyn’s thighs began to shake. One of her hands stayed in his hair; the other clutched the edge of the dresser for balance.
“That’s it, Grandma,” he murmured against her wet flesh. “Let me taste this pussy. I’ve dreamed about this for years.”
He pushed two thick fingers inside her while he sucked her clit. Evelyn was tight and hot and already dripping. He curled his fingers, searching for the spot that made her hips jerk, and when he found it he stayed there, rubbing steadily while his tongue worked her clit in firm circles.
Evelyn came with a quiet, shattered cry, thighs clamping around his head, pussy pulsing around his fingers. Clear fluid soaked his chin and the front of his shirt. Marcus kept licking her through it, gentler now, until she was trembling and oversensitive.
He stood up.
His sweatpants were shoved down in one motion. His cock sprang free—thick, dark, heavily veined, the head already shiny with pre-cum. Evelyn’s eyes dropped to it and stayed there. She didn’t look away.
Marcus stepped in close, the head of his cock brushing against her soft, wet folds. He cupped her face with one hand.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough. “If you want me to stop, say it right now.”
Evelyn’s lips parted. For a long second she only breathed. Then she whispered, “Don’t stop, baby. Please… don’t stop.”
Marcus pushed inside her in one slow, steady thrust.
Evelyn’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. She was tight, almost painfully so at first, but so wet that he sank deeper with every careful stroke. He bottomed out, hips pressed tight against her soft belly, and stayed there for a moment just feeling her. Her heavy breasts were crushed against his chest. Her arms came up around his neck.
He started to fuck her.
Slow at first—deep, rolling strokes that made her heavy tits bounce between them. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of her filled the quiet bedroom. Evelyn’s soft moans grew louder with every thrust. She clung to him, face buried in his neck, breathing hard.
“Harder,” she whispered after a while. “You can go harder, baby. Grandma can take it.”
Marcus growled low in his throat and gave her what she asked for. He gripped her thick ass with both hands and started driving into her with longer, stronger strokes. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder. Evelyn’s heavy breasts bounced hard with every thrust. She reached up and held one of them, offering the thick nipple to his mouth. Marcus latched on and sucked while he fucked her, never breaking rhythm.
They moved together like they had been doing this for years. When he lifted one of her thick thighs higher against his hip, the new angle made her cry out. When he spun her around and bent her over the edge of the bed, she pushed back to meet every thrust. When he pulled out and made her suck her own juices off his cock, she did it greedily, eyes locked on his.
He fucked her through two more orgasms before his own built to the edge. He pulled out at the last second, stroking his thick cock hard, and came in heavy, pulsing ropes across her soft belly and heavy breasts. Thick white cum painted her dark skin, dripping down the curves of her tits and pooling in her navel.
For a long time the only sound in the room was their breathing.
Marcus leaned down and kissed her—slow, deep, and open-mouthed. Evelyn kissed him back just as hungrily.
When they finally pulled apart, she looked at him with soft, heavy-lidded eyes.
“Bible study starts in forty minutes,” she said quietly. A small, wicked smile touched her lips. “You better help Grandma get cleaned up… or I’m going to be late.”
Marcus smiled, already hard again.
“Yes, ma’am.”

By late afternoon the house had settled into the open quiet of a family that no longer bothered with shame. Yolanda crossed the dirt path in a fresh tank top and shorts, hair still damp, and sat at the kitchen table like the morning had been ordinary. Marcus followed and took a beer from the fridge without comment. The others moved through the rest of the day with the easy knowledge of each other’s bodies.
Night came slow. The trailer eventually quieted. One by one the others went to their beds or to the smaller trailer. Grandma Pearl waited until the last door had shut and the only sound left was the low rattle of the window unit. Then she rose from her chair and walked to her narrow bedroom at the back of the double-wide.
She closed the door, locked it, and turned on the single lamp. The room smelled of powder, liniment, and her own skin. Pearl pulled the nightgown off over her head and let it fall. Her heavy, aged body stood bare in the low yellow light—soft stomach, pendulous breasts, thick thighs. She lay back on the narrow bed, propped herself against the headboard, and spread her legs wide.
She started slowly. Two lined fingers slid through the already-slick folds, gathering wetness, then rubbed deliberate circles over her clit. The soft, wet sound filled the quiet room. Pearl’s breathing deepened. She pushed the two fingers inside herself, curling them against the spot that made her hips twitch, and kept the heel of her hand grinding against her clit.
“That’s it,” she murmured to the empty room, voice low and rough. “Same as it’s always been.”
She worked herself harder. Three fingers now, thrusting deeper, the wet sound growing louder and filthier. Her free hand came up and squeezed one heavy breast, pinching the thick nipple hard enough to make her hiss. Her hips began to roll against her own hand. Sweat sheened on her soft stomach and between her breasts.
She thought about the morning—her son’s cock stretching her at the kitchen table, the way he had flooded her while she told him not to pull out. She thought about her grandson under her the night before, about Shanice’s mouth, about the whole tangled mess of the family in the candlelight. Her fingers moved faster, plunging in and out of her cunt with short, wet strokes while her thumb scrubbed roughly over her clit.
“Come on,” she growled under her breath. “Give it to me.”
Her thighs started to shake. She pushed a fourth finger in, stretching herself open, and rubbed her clit in tight, frantic circles. The wet, rhythmic sound of her hand fucking her own pussy filled the small bedroom. Her heavy breasts shifted with every harsh breath. Her mouth stayed open, low broken sounds leaving her on every exhale.
The orgasm hit hard. Pearl’s back arched off the mattress as much as her age allowed. A deep, guttural moan tore out of her chest as her cunt clamped down around her fingers in strong, pulsing waves. Thick wetness flooded her hand and ran down onto the sheet. She kept thrusting and rubbing through it, dragging every last tremor out of her body until her legs were trembling and her wrist ached.
Even then she didn’t stop immediately. She slowed, but she kept two fingers inside herself, gently stroking the sensitive walls while aftershocks rippled through her. Only when the last of the shaking faded did she pull her hand free. Her fingers were shiny and dripping. She looked at them in the lamp light for a long moment, then brought them to her mouth and licked them clean with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue.
Pearl lay there afterward, thighs still open, chest rising and falling hard, the smell of her own cunt heavy in the small room. Outside, the trailer park made its ordinary night noises. Inside the double-wide, the rest of the family slept in the beds they had earned. Pearl reached down once more, dragged her fingers through the wetness still leaking from her, and gave a small, private smile at the ceiling.
This was the new normal.
And she was completely at peace with it.

The back bedroom of the Rawls double-wide held the day’s heat long after the sun went down. The single window unit rattled in the corner, pushing tired air across the narrow bed and the dresser with its cracked mirror. Outside, the trailer park had settled into its night sounds—televisions through open windows, a dog barking once and going quiet, the occasional car rolling slow over the gravel. Inside, the air carried the familiar mix of lotion, old wood, and the low electric hum of bodies that already knew what the night was for.
Latrice stood at the foot of the bed in a thin cotton housedress, arms crossed under her heavy breasts. At forty-five she still had the full, soft shape the men in the family preferred—thick waist, wide hips, breasts that strained whatever she put on them. Her hair was wrapped for the night. Her expression was calm in the way that meant she had already decided something.
Grandma Pearl sat propped against the headboard in her old floral nightgown, the material stretched across her own heavy, aged chest. Seventy-two years had softened her, lined her, but it had not taken the weight from her breasts or the directness from her eyes. She looked at her daughter-in-law and then toward the hallway.
“Go get him,” Pearl said.
Latrice didn’t argue. She stepped out into the short hallway and found Junior near the kitchen, still in the basketball shorts he had worn most of the day. Twenty-four, dark-skinned, thick through the shoulders and chest, he carried the easy physical confidence of a young man raised without the usual walls between family and flesh. When he saw his mother’s face he already knew.
“Grandma want you,” Latrice said. “Now.”
Junior followed her back. The bedroom door closed behind them with a soft click. Pearl looked him over once, slow, the way she looked at food when she intended to finish all of it.
“Take them off.”
Junior pushed the shorts down and stepped out of them. His cock was already rising under the attention, thick and dark, the head beginning to swell. Pearl’s eyes stayed on it while Latrice reached down, wrapped her hand around him, and gave two slow strokes as if confirming the weight.
“Get on the bed,” Pearl said. “On your back.”
Junior climbed onto the narrow mattress and lay back. The two older women looked at each other over his body for a long moment. Something unspoken and long-settled passed between them. Then Latrice pulled her housedress off in one motion and let it drop. Her heavy breasts settled free. Pearl worked her nightgown up and over her head with slower movements, revealing the soft, lined stomach and the large, pendulous breasts that had fed and fucked generations of the same bloodline.
They climbed onto the bed on either side of him.
Latrice swung one leg over Junior’s chest first, facing his feet, and lowered herself onto his face without ceremony. The soft, wet heat of her pussy settled over his mouth. Junior’s hands came up automatically to her thick thighs. Latrice reached back, found his cock, and held it steady while Pearl moved into position above his hips.
Pearl straddled him, positioned the thick head at her entrance, and sank down slowly. Her mouth opened as she took him inch by inch, the aged but still-tight heat of her cunt stretching around the thickness. When she finally sat fully in his lap she stayed still for a moment, breathing, feeling him deep.
“There,” she said. “That’s where you belong right now.”
She began to move with the practiced, rolling rhythm of decades—slow rises and deep drops that kept him buried while her heavy breasts swayed. At the same time Latrice ground down on Junior’s mouth, guiding his tongue with small shifts of her hips. The wet sounds of both women using him filled the small room.
Pearl leaned forward. Latrice leaned back to meet her. The two women kissed over Junior’s body, open-mouthed and unhurried, while one rode his cock and the other rode his face. Pearl’s hands came up and cupped Latrice’s heavy breasts, squeezing the soft flesh, thumbs dragging across the thick nipples. Latrice’s hands did the same to Pearl, lifting and weighing the older woman’s pendulous tits, pinching the wide nipples until Pearl made a low sound into her mouth.
Junior’s world narrowed to the taste of his mother’s cunt and the tight, wet slide of his grandmother’s pussy around his cock. He licked and sucked as best he could under Latrice’s weight. His hips gave small upward thrusts to meet Pearl’s downward rhythm. The two women ignored him except as the living thing they were sharing.
They kissed for a long time, wet and deliberate, while their hips kept working. Pearl would rise high enough that only the head of Junior’s cock stayed inside her, then drop down hard enough to make the bedframe creak. Latrice ground in slow circles on his tongue, sometimes lifting just enough to let him breathe before settling again. Their hands never left each other’s bodies—groping breasts, sliding down soft stomachs, reaching back to spread each other open for better access to the young man underneath.
After several minutes Pearl lifted off him with a wet sound. “Switch.”
Latrice rose from his face. The two women traded places with the ease of people who had done this before. Latrice straddled his hips and sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion, taking him to the root with a low moan. Pearl climbed higher and settled her cunt over his mouth. Junior tasted the different, deeper musk of his grandmother immediately. He put his tongue to work the same way, licking through the slick folds, focusing on the swollen clit when Pearl pressed down harder.
Latrice rode him with more force than Pearl had—deeper drops, sharper grinds, her heavy breasts bouncing with every movement. Pearl leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time, while her hands returned to Latrice’s tits, squeezing and lifting them. Latrice’s hands found Pearl’s ass and pulled her down harder onto Junior’s face. The wet, filthy sounds of both women using him grew louder. Soft moans mixed with the creak of the bed and the rattle of the window unit.
“You feel how wet she is?” Pearl murmured against Latrice’s mouth. “That’s from watching you take him. I remember when your husband used to get this hard for me.”
Latrice answered by grinding down harder on Junior’s cock and sucking Pearl’s lower lip between her teeth. Their tongues met again. Junior’s hands gripped whichever soft thighs or hips he could reach, holding on while the two older women treated his body like property they both owned and intended to use completely.
They kept the rhythm going until Latrice’s breathing changed. She braced her hands on Junior’s stomach and fucked herself on him with short, urgent strokes, chasing it. Pearl watched her face and kept grinding on Junior’s tongue. When Latrice came it was with a deep, broken moan, her pussy clamping hard around her son’s cock in strong pulses. She stayed on him through it, trembling, while Pearl reached down and rubbed Latrice’s clit with two fingers to drag the orgasm out longer.
Only when the shaking eased did Latrice lift off. Cum that had started to leak from her earlier mixing with her own wetness streaked Junior’s stomach. Pearl looked at it, then at Latrice, and gave a small nod.
“My turn to finish on him.”
She moved back down to his hips, took his still-hard cock in her hand, and sank onto it again. This time she rode him with clear intent—deeper, harder, the wet slap of her soft ass against his thighs filling the room. Latrice climbed up to his face once more and settled her cunt back over his mouth, giving him no time to recover. The two women leaned together again, kissing and groping, heavy breasts pressing and sliding against each other while they used the young man between them.
Pearl’s rhythm grew more demanding. Her lined hands braced on Junior’s chest. Her heavy breasts swung with every drop. Latrice ground on his tongue and reached back to spread Pearl’s ass open with both hands, giving Junior the occasional glimpse of his cock disappearing into his grandmother before his vision was filled with his mother’s wet flesh again.
“You gone cum in this old pussy,” Pearl told him, voice rough with breath. “You hold it until I say. You hear me?”
Junior made a muffled sound of agreement against Latrice. His whole body was tight with the need to finish. Pearl kept him there on the edge, rising and dropping, grinding her clit against him, while Latrice’s wetness covered the lower half of his face. The two women kissed through it—deep, unhurried kisses that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the shared ownership of the body they were riding.
Finally Pearl’s thighs began to tremble. She dropped down hard and stayed there, grinding in tight circles.
“Now,” she ordered. “Give it to me.”
Junior’s control broke. He thrust up as much as the two women’s weight allowed and came with a deep, muffled groan, cock pulsing hard inside his grandmother as he emptied into her. Pearl kept grinding through every spurt, her own orgasm following close behind in a long, low moan that Latrice swallowed with another kiss. Latrice came a second time against Junior’s tongue, thighs tightening around his head while her pussy pulsed on his mouth.
For a long moment none of them moved. The only sounds were harsh breathing and the tired rattle of the window unit. Then Pearl lifted off him slowly. A thick mixture of cum and her own wetness followed, running down Junior’s cock and onto the sheet. Latrice rose from his face a second later, leaving his mouth and chin shiny.
The two older women sat back on their heels on either side of him, looking down at the young man they had just finished using. Junior lay still, chest rising and falling, the taste of both of them thick on his tongue, his cock still twitching with aftershocks against his stomach.
Pearl reached over and cupped one of Latrice’s heavy breasts in a gesture that was almost casual. Latrice did the same to her. They stayed like that for a moment, still touching each other over Junior’s spent body, before Pearl finally spoke.
“Clean us up.”
Junior sat up. The two women lay back against the headboard side by side, thighs open. He moved first between his grandmother’s legs and licked her clean with slow, thorough strokes, tasting himself mixed with her. When Pearl was satisfied she nudged him toward Latrice. He did the same for his mother, licking through the slick folds until she closed her thighs around his head once in quiet approval and then released him.
Latrice found her housedress and pulled it on. Pearl reached for her nightgown. Junior sat on the edge of the bed, still naked, waiting for whatever came next.
Pearl looked at him, then at Latrice, and gave a small, tired smile that held no softness.
“You bring my plate tomorrow night like always,” she said to Junior. “And you come when either one of us call you. This—” she gestured between the three of them with two fingers “—don’t stop just because we finished for tonight.”
Latrice stood and opened the door. The cooler air of the hallway moved in. Junior gathered his shorts and stepped into them. The two women watched him leave without further comment. When the door shut, the bedroom returned to its ordinary quiet, the scent of sex and skin still heavy in the air, the generational arrangement already settled back into the private order of the household.

Disclaimer and Warning:

This ain't your momma's romance novel, and all participants depicted in these stories are strictly 18 years of age or older. Put away the soft lights and gentle whispers, because you just stepped foot into Cumpton, the most ghetto, hood, horny, and sexually depraved town on the face of the earth. Here in the self-contained concrete jungle of Cummington Heights apartment building, social norms, laws, and basic morality don't mean a goddamn thing. This is a place where every BBW hoe is built for maximum breeding and every nigga is packing heavy meat, ready to flood a wet slit raw on command.

I’m Beverly Wett, your nasty-ass, nosy-as-hell BBW narrator planted right here in the middle of this nasty shit, with my massive HHH-cup tits aching and my deep, hairy, raunchy pussy leaking a whole damn lake. I document every single drop of unrestrained, taboo-shattering debauchery that goes down out here. Expect an insane, ungodly amount of ejaculate soaking the furniture, walls, and floors, because in Cumpton, nobody ever cleans up cum, we just ride the wave.

I'm perched on a nasty-ass cum-stained sofa in the hallway outside apartment 512, my own raunchy pussy leaking through my panties and adding to the permanent funk in the air. The scent of my own hairy, wet slit mixes with the smell of old sex and fried chicken wafting up from the floors below, it’s a nasty perfume, and I’m fucking here for it. Through the thin-ass door, I can hear Katrina’s voice, that ghetto bitch, whispering urgent and slick to her 19-year-old daughter Honey. My tits are heavy in my hands, my nipples hard as rocks against my palms, cause I know what’s coming. This shit is about to get biblical.

KATRINA'S NIGHT OUT:

“Girl, just lay there,” Katrina hisses, her voice muffled but clear as day. “Terrence won’t know the difference. He is sleep and never expects me to give him any pussy. Turn your back on him, keep the lights out, and go to sleep. I gotta go meet this nigga, his dick is nine inches of dripping precum and my pussy is screaming for it.” I press my ear to the door, my heart pounding not from fear but from that sick, twisted excitement. Honey’s voice comes back, shaky and tight. “Mama, I can’t… that’s Daddy. That’s wrong.” But I hear the wetness in her protest, the same wetness I feel pooling between my own thick thighs. My pussy clenches just thinking about it. The potential for a good, nasty taboo act is thick in the air, and my demonic red eyes are probably glowing like fucking brake lights in this dim hallway. I can’t wait to see how this nasty family drama unfolds.

My ear’s plastered to the sticky wood of the door, my own raunchy pussy scent thickening the air around me. I can hear every word, clear as a bell. “Bitch, get your ass in there,” Katrina snaps, her voice low and venomous. I picture her, that 300-pound hoe, tiptoeing around in the dark. “Make sure you keep on that oversize t-shirt. No bra, no panties. This shit has to be authentic. He’s used to me being cold. If that nigga reaches for a titty in his sleep, you pop his hand away. Make it believable.”

I bite my lip, my hand sliding down to palm my own soaked pussy through my shorts. Oh, this is so diabolical.

“Mama, please,” Honey whispers, her voice trembling. Not with fear, nah. That’s lust trembling. I can fucking smell it through the door, the sweet, raunchy scent of a fresh 19-year-old pussy waking up to a forbidden idea. Honey continues, “He’ll know.”

Katrina retorts, “How? In the dark? Bitch, we built the same. Same tits, same ass, same everything. Now move. I gotta go drain a nine-inch dick that’s been texting me all night.”

There’s a rustle, the sound of a kiss smacked on Honey's cheek, and then the click of the front door lock.

Then, the soft, careful creak of a bedroom door opening.

My breath hitches. I press my eye to the peephole, but it’s dark on the other side. I don’t need to see. I can feel it. The tension is a live wire.

I hear the shuffle of bare feet on carpet, the soft sigh of mattress springs as weight settles. Honey’s weight. She’s climbing into the bed her parents share. The bed where her daddy, Terrence, sleeps with a hard, neglected cock.

I slide my hand into my panties, my fingers finding my own soaked, hairy slit. I’m leaking so much it’s making a wet spot on the couch. In the silence, I imagine it: Honey laying on her side, her back to him, that big t-shirt riding up to expose the full, heavy curve of her ass. No panties. Her pussy, probably as wet and raunchy as her mama’s, just inches from her sleeping father’s thigh. The air in that room must be thick with the smell of sleep, betrayal, and ripe, ready pussy.

Is he really asleep? Or is that hard, nine-inch monster of his already stirring, sensing a warm, familiar-yet-different body next to him? My fingers work my clit in slow circles, my demonic red eyes glowing in the dark hallway, a sick smile spreading across my face. The game is set. Now we just wait for the players to move.

Terrence’s voice rumbles through the door, thick with sleep and a pain so deep it makes my own cunt ache in sympathy. “Babe,” he mumbles, the word slurred but desperate. “I really need you tonight. I don’t even care… I don’t even care that you out there fucking all those other niggas. Just… just be here with me.”

A harsh, silent sob catches in my own throat. Not from sadness, bitch, from the raw, nasty realness of it. This big, fine-ass, successful nigga, reduced to begging a ghost in his own bed. And the ghost is his own daughter, her pussy probably leaking a river onto his sheets right now.

Honey doesn’t move. I can feel her stillness, a statue of guilt and burgeoning lust. She’s holding her breath, her body rigid under that thin t-shirt. Terrence dares not reach out. He knows the drill. Katrina’s trained him good. A hand on her hip would earn him a slap and a stream of ghetto curses. So he just talks to the dark, his confession hanging in the air, mixing with the scent of Honey’s raunchy wet pussy.

I can fucking smell the shift through the door, that sweet, musky, 19-year-old heat, different from her mama’s worn-in funk, but just as potent. It’s the scent of a taboo waking up, of a daughter’s loyalty twisting into something wet and wicked. My own fingers start moving again, my clit throbbing in time with my heartbeat. This is better than any scripted shit.

He thinks he’s talking to his cheating wife, pouring his heart out to the very bitch who’s probably getting her back blown out by some random dick right now. And Honey… Honey’s just lying there, taking it all in, her heart breaking for him while her pussy betrays her with a gush of hot juice. She’s maintaining the act, staying silent, but her body is screaming the truth. That silence is the loudest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.

I press my forehead against the cool, sticky door, my demonic red eyes burning holes in the darkness. Just wait, daddy. Just wait ‘til you find out who’s really in bed with you. The game ain’t just set anymore. The first piece just moved, and it’s dripping.

The mattress dips as Terrence sits up, a big shadow against the faint streetlight bleeding around the curtains. My ear’s glued to the door, my cunt so wet it’s soaking through my shorts and onto the nasty couch. This is the moment. The crossroads.

“I’m gonna grab some Benadryl,” he mutters, his voice gravelly with defeat. "It will help me sleep. Last thing I need is to wake up with a bad case of blue balls. I know you’d love that.” The bitterness in his tone is a physical thing, sharp and cold.

But in that bed, Honey’s heart ain’t just breaking anymore. It’s catching fire. "A Benadryl?" Fuck that. This nigga’s nine-inch, dripping cock ain’t built for no damn wet dream or jacking off. That’s her inheritance. Her daddy’s lonely dick belongs in her addictively scented pussy. All them twisted fantasies she tucked away in the dark of her own room come flooding back, hot and urgent.

She stays quiet. The act is everything. But her hand, it moves.

I hear the soft slide of skin on cotton, a gentle but firm tug. Honey’s fingers wrap around Terrence’s wrist and pull. Not hard. Just enough. A silent invitation.

He goes with it, confused, his body following the guidance in the dark. The bed groans under the shift of weight as he settles over her. He’s on top now, his hips cradled between her thick thighs, the massive tent in his pajama pants pressing against the thin barrier of her t-shirt and the wet, hairy heat of her pussy beneath.

My breath stops. My fingers are buried knuckle-deep in my own slit, pumping slowly. Do it, daddy. Make the choice.

Honey lies perfectly still beneath him, her chest rising and falling fast. She’s offering herself. An altar. But she’s making him penetrate. She’s making him, in his sleepy, confused state, think "Katrina" is finally giving him what he needs. The ultimate betrayal wrapped in the skin of a gift.

Terrence hesitates. I can feel his confusion through the door. This ain’t Katrina’s style. Katrina don’t pull him close; she pushes him away.

“Babe?” he whispers, his voice husky.

Honey says nothing. Just arches her hips the tiniest bit, pressing her soaked, raunchy mound up against the throbbing length of him. The scent of her eager pussy fills the space between them, unmistakable and intoxicating.

It’s the scent that breaks him. That and a lifetime of need.

With a low groan that’s pure relief and pain, Terrence fumbles with the waistband of his pants. He thinks it’s his wife. He thinks the drought is over. He has no idea he’s about to cross a line into his daughter’s dripping, forbidden womb.

I bite my knuckle to keep from moaning out loud as I hear the soft shush of fabric, the sound of his hard, hairy cock springing free. The head, slick with pre-cum, bumps against Honey’s thigh. Then, with a shaky, desperate thrust, he seeks the heat.

And finds it.

My pussy is a fucking geyser in my shorts, leaking all over this nasty-ass sofa. I can hear every wet, meaty sound through the door. That slick, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the low, guttural groans from Terrence, the sharp, bitten-off gasps from Honey.

She’s trying to stay quiet, I can tell. But bitch, please. That’s her daddy’s nine-inch, hairy cock drilling into her pussy, stretching her wide, hitting depths she ain't never felt. My own cunt clenches around my fingers, imagining it. He’s fucking her slow at first, then harder, driven by a year of neglect and the intoxicating, raunchy scent of what he thinks is his wife’s finally-willing slit.

Terrence is in heaven. His poor, ignorant heart is pounding against his ribs. “Katrina… oh, god…” he grunts, his thrusts getting sloppy, desperate. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t… I can’t hold it.” His voice is tight, strained. It’s been so damn long, his balls are aching, his cock swelling to an impossible thickness inside her.

But Honey don’t want him to hold back. Hell no. She wants that nut. She wants his seed flooding her womb, claiming her in the dark. She turns her head, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a shaky, careful whisper that she prays sounds like her mama’s. “Let go, baby. It’s okay.”

That’s all it takes.

A broken sob tears from Terrence’s throat. He tries to hold on for one more thrust, two more, but the tip of his cock swells against her cervix, that familiar, undeniable pressure building like a dam about to burst. His hips stutter, his whole body going rigid over hers.

“Fuck… Katrina… I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. The dam breaks.

And oh, shit!

The first blast isn’t a spurt. It’s a fucking explosion. I hear it—a wet, volcanic sploosh sound as gallons of hot, thick cum erupt from his cock deep inside Honey’s pussy. It’s so much, so fast, that it backwashes around his still-pumping shaft, a torrent of sticky white flooding out of her, soaking the sheets beneath them with an audible gush.

“OH, GOD!” Terrence bellows, his body convulsing on top of her as pulse after pulse of cum rockets into his daughter’s clinging, raunchy tunnel. It just keeps coming. I can hear it splattering against the headboard, dripping onto the floor. The room smells like sex and semen and betrayal, and it’s the nastiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.

Honey can’t stay silent anymore. A high, keening wail tears from her lips as her own orgasm hits, triggered by the feeling of her daddy’s seed scalding her insides. Her pussy convulses around his still-spurting cock, gushing her own hot juice in a messy, mixing flood. The bed is a fucking biohazard, a lake of incestuous cum and pussy juice, and they’re both drowning in it.

Terrence is crying, his tears mixing with the sweat on his face. He thinks it’s love. He thinks it’s his wife.

But it’s just his nasty ass, devoted daughter, finally getting exactly what she always wanted.

Another seismic wave of pleasure slams through them, deeper, more violent than the first.

Terrence’s cock, still impossibly hard and buried to the hilt, throbs and unleashes another torrent. This ain't spurts, it's a geyser, a hot, white flood that pulses from his balls with a force that makes his vision blur. It floods Honey’s womb, overflows, and gushes out around their joined flesh in thick, sticky rivers that pool beneath her ass and drip off the mattress with a steady plip-plip-plip onto the floorboards.

And Honey… she breaks.

Her back arches clear off the bed, her body seizing. The careful whisper, the act, it all shatters. Her mouth flies open and a raw, unfiltered scream rips from her throat, her real voice, shattered with ecstasy.

"OH, FUCK! OH, DADDY! DADDY, YES!"

The word hangs in the cum-thick air.

Daddy.

Terrence freezes. The blissful fog in his brain evaporates in an instant, replaced by a cold, dawning horror. That voice. That isn't Katrina.

With a strangled gasp, he wrenches himself off of her—his slick, cum-drenched cock sliding out of her with a wet, obscene pop, trailing strands of pussy juice and cum stumbles across the room. His hand slaps the wall, fumbling, and the overhead light explodes into the room.

The scene is fucking vile. Honey is splayed on the ruined bed, her mama’s oversized t-shirt hiked up around her waist, her thick thighs glistening with a mixture of her own pussy juice and her father’s semen, which is still oozing from her swollen, used pussy. Her face is flushed, tears of pleasure streaking her cheeks, her lips parted, chest heaving.

Terrence stands naked by the switch, his nine-inch cock still hard and dripping, pointing accusingly at the floor, which is splattered with their shared mess. He’s painted in it, his stomach, his thighs, all glazed white.

He stares. His eyes, wide with shock, travel from Honey’s face, down her body, to the absolute carnage of the bed, the soaked sheets, the puddles, the sheer volume of cum that seems impossible. Then back to her face.

No one speaks. The only sound is their ragged breathing and the slow, steady drip of fluids from the mattress edge.

His mouth works, but no sound comes out. The truth is there, naked and dripping between them. He didn’t fuck his wife. He seduced his own daughter. And she… she loved every fucking second of it.

My own fingers are soaked, my demonic red eyes burning as I press against the door, soaking in the beautiful, nasty silence of a taboo realized. This line-crossing dance of taboo lust is nowhere near over, it's just got started.

[end part 1]

The trailer was quiet in the heavy way it only got after midnight, when the park outside had settled into distant televisions and the occasional bark of a dog. The single lamp in the living room threw a dull yellow circle across the worn couch and the scarred coffee table. Latrice had fallen asleep there after the dishes, one arm tucked under her head, the other resting across the soft rise of her stomach. The thin faded blue housedress she still wore had stretched over the years to hold the full weight of her heavy breasts and wide hips. The hem had ridden up her thighs in her sleep. Her bare feet hung off the edge of the cushion. Soft snores left her slightly open mouth.
The front door opened harder than it needed to. Tyrone Sr. came in first, the thick smell of beer, night air, and male sweat clinging to him. Marcus followed close behind, just as drunk, boots heavy on the thin flooring. Both men were loose-limbed and already hard from the drinking and the shared understanding of what they were about to do.
Tyrone saw her first.
“There she is,” he said, voice low and rough with alcohol. “Passed out like she ain’t got a care in the world.”
Marcus closed the door and locked it with a deliberate click. His eyes moved over Latrice the same way they always did when he had been drinking—open, hungry, already deciding how he was going to use her. “She know what time it is?”
“She about to.”
Tyrone walked over to the couch and stood looking down at his wife. Latrice stirred at the sound of their voices but didn’t fully wake. Her housedress had slipped off one shoulder, the heavy curve of one dark breast nearly exposed. Tyrone reached down and tugged the fabric the rest of the way, freeing both of them. The soft, heavy flesh settled against her ribs. He cupped one in his big hand and squeezed hard enough to make the flesh bulge between his fingers. The nipple stiffened under his palm.
Latrice’s eyes opened. For a second she only blinked up at him, still half in sleep. Then she saw Marcus standing a few feet behind her husband and the look on both their faces, and the reality of the night settled into her body all at once.
“Tyrone…” Her voice was thick. “Y’all drunk.”
“Yeah,” he answered, still squeezing her breast. “And you laying out here with this pussy basically out like you waiting on something.”
He didn’t ask permission. He pulled her up by the arm until she was sitting, then reached for the hem of the housedress and dragged it up over her head in one rough motion. Latrice lifted her arms out of habit more than willingness. The dress landed on the floor. Underneath she wore only a pair of plain cotton panties. Marcus stepped in immediately, hooked his fingers in the waistband, and yanked them down her legs and off. He tossed them aside without looking.
Latrice sat naked on the couch, heavy breasts rising and falling with her breathing, thick thighs pressed together out of residual habit. Tyrone stood in front of her and shoved his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free his cock. It was already fully hard—thick, dark, heavy, the head swollen and shiny with pre-cum. He took her chin in his hand, tilted her face up, and pushed the head of his cock against her lips.
“Open.”
She did. Tyrone pushed past her lips and into her mouth in one steady thrust, not stopping until the thick head hit the back of her throat. Latrice made a choked sound around him. He held her head in place with both hands and started fucking her mouth in slow, deep strokes, watching her lips stretch wide around the shaft. Spit immediately began to gather at the corners of her mouth.
Marcus watched for only a few seconds before moving. He pushed Latrice’s knees apart roughly, stepped between them, and freed his own cock. It was leaner than Tyrone’s but just as hard, the head already wet. He rubbed it up and down through the folds of her cunt, feeling how she was already starting to get slick despite herself, then shoved in hard.
Latrice’s eyes fluttered. The dual sensation—her husband’s thick cock filling and stretching her throat, her brother’s cock driving deep into her pussy—dragged a long, muffled moan out of her that vibrated around Tyrone. Marcus gripped her soft thighs hard enough to leave marks and started thrusting, steady and deep, the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of her mixing with the softer, wetter sounds of Tyrone using her mouth.
“That’s right,” Tyrone muttered, looking down at her. “Take it. You know how to take both of us. Don’t act brand new.”
Marcus fucked her with focused, heavy strokes, watching his cock disappear into her over and over. He reached up with one hand and squeezed one of her heavy breasts, thumb dragging hard across the thick nipple until it stood stiff. Every thrust made her breasts sway and bounce. The wet slap of his hips against her thighs grew louder.
After several minutes Tyrone pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop. Thick strings of spit connected her swollen lips to his cock. “Switch.”
They moved with the ease of men who had done this to her before. Marcus stepped back. Tyrone took his place between her legs, lined his thicker cock up, and sank into her cunt in one long, relentless push until his balls pressed against her. Latrice’s head fell back against the couch cushion with a broken sound. Marcus moved to her head, took a handful of her hair, and fed his cock back into her open, spit-slick mouth.
They used her like that without pause—Tyrone driving into her pussy with deep, heavy strokes that made the couch creak, Marcus fucking her throat in shorter, controlled thrusts that made her eyes water. Latrice’s hands gripped the edge of the couch cushion so hard her knuckles lightened. Spit ran freely down her chin and dripped onto her heavy breasts. Every time Marcus pushed too deep she gagged, throat convulsing around him, but she didn’t pull away. The wet slap of Tyrone’s hips against her soft thighs filled the small living room along with the filthier sounds of her being used at both ends.
“Look at her,” Marcus said, voice rough. “Taking dick like she was built for it. Throat and pussy both open.”
Tyrone only grunted and fucked her harder. He hooked his arms under her knees and shoved them back toward her chest, folding her open so he could drive even deeper. The new angle made Latrice moan loudly around Marcus’s cock. The vibration made Marcus thrust further into her throat until she gagged hard, then pull back just enough to let her drag in a wet breath before doing it again.
They kept the rhythm going until Tyrone’s breathing turned harsher. He pulled out suddenly, cock shiny with her.
“Turn her over.”
Together they manhandled her onto her knees on the couch, chest forced against the back cushion, thick ass presented and raised. Marcus moved behind her first. He shoved back into her cunt in one hard thrust and started fucking her from behind with short, rough strokes, one hand planted firmly in the middle of her back to keep her pinned. Tyrone stepped in front of her, gripped a handful of her hair, and guided his cock back into her mouth, pushing deep until her nose pressed against his stomach.
Latrice took both of them again—Marcus slamming into her pussy hard enough to make her heavy breasts swing and slap together, Tyrone using her throat with even less patience than before. The couch creaked and shifted under the combined force. Soft, choked, wet sounds left her every time Marcus bottomed out and every time Tyrone pushed too far into her throat. Spit ran down her chin in thick strands and dripped onto the cushion.
Marcus reached around her hip with his free hand and found her clit, rubbing it in tight, rough circles while he kept pounding into her. Latrice’s body jerked hard. Her moans grew higher and more broken around Tyrone’s cock. Marcus kept working her clit without mercy until she came with a muffled, desperate cry, thighs shaking violently, pussy clamping down around him in strong, rhythmic pulses that tried to milk him. He cursed under his breath and fucked her straight through the orgasm without slowing down, dragging it out until she was trembling and making wet, helpless sounds.
When the last of the tremors faded he pulled out. Tyrone took his place immediately, sinking into her still-clenching, soaking cunt and picking up the same hard, punishing pace. Marcus moved back to her mouth, wiped his wet cock across her lips, and pushed in again. They switched places twice more after that—each time leaving her more open, more marked, more used—until both men were close.
Tyrone buried himself to the root first and came with a low, guttural groan, cock pulsing hard as he flooded her pussy with thick, heavy spurts. He stayed locked against her ass until every drop was inside her, then pulled out slow. A thick river of cum followed him, running down her inner thighs in long white streaks. Marcus took his place at once, shoving into the messy, cum-filled heat and fucking her with short, urgent strokes until he finished too, adding his own heavy load to Tyrone’s until it leaked out around his cock with every small movement.
They held her there between them for a long moment, both still half-hard, breathing hard, looking down at the way their combined cum dripped from her used cunt onto the couch cushion. Latrice stayed on her knees, cheek against the back cushion, face wet with spit and tears, body still occasionally trembling with aftershocks.
Tyrone was the first to step back. He tucked himself away and looked down at her.
“You all right?”
Latrice’s voice was wrecked, hoarse from the throat-fucking. “Yeah.”
Marcus gave her thick ass a firm, open-handed slap that made the flesh jiggle and more cum drip out of her, then fixed his own clothes. “Next time don’t fall asleep on the couch if you don’t want us waking you up and using this pussy like this.”
Latrice didn’t answer. She stayed where she was until both men had moved toward the kitchen for water and another beer. Only then did she push herself up on unsteady legs. Cum immediately ran heavier down her thighs. She gathered her housedress and the discarded panties from the floor and walked slowly toward the bathroom at the back of the trailer, every step sending another warm trickle down her legs.
In the bathroom she cleaned up in silence. The taste of both of them—salt, skin, and the thicker taste of cock—still coated her tongue and the back of her throat. The ache between her legs had already settled into the deep, familiar, dull throb that meant the night had gone exactly the way the men in her family decided it would. When she came back out, Tyrone and Marcus were on the couch with open beers, the television on like nothing had happened. Latrice found another housedress, pulled it on without bothering with panties, and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. The wetness between her thighs remained a quiet, private, leaking reminder of how thoroughly she had been used.

From the novel: Giving Up The Rawls by BlacOnBlakMajik

The kitchen in the Rawls double-wide was too small for the kind of anger that had been building all afternoon. The single fluorescent light over the sink hummed and flickered every few minutes. Dishes from lunch sat stacked in the basin. The air still carried the smell of grease and collard greens. Latrice stood at the counter with her back to the room, drying the same plate longer than it needed, her full body rigid under a thin yellow housedress that clung to the heavy curve of her breasts and the soft width of her hips.
Yolanda leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed under her own thick chest, watching her with open dislike. At forty-six she still carried herself like the woman who had never quite accepted that her brother had chosen Latrice over anyone else. Her shorts were cut high on her thighs. The tank top she wore did nothing to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You keep wiping that plate like it said something to you,” Yolanda said.
Latrice didn’t turn around. “You keep standing in my kitchen like you pay bills here.”
“Your kitchen.” Yolanda laughed once, sharp. “Girl, this whole trailer run on Rawls money and Rawls dick. You just the one who happened to get pregnant first.”
Latrice set the plate down hard enough to crack it. She turned. Her dark eyes were flat. “Say that again.”
Yolanda pushed off the counter and stepped closer. The space between them shrank to almost nothing. “I said you ain’t special. You just the one who stayed. Don’t act like you run something just because Tyrone put two babies in you.”
Latrice’s hand came up fast. Yolanda caught her wrist before the slap landed. For a second they stood locked like that, breathing hard, the old resentment and something hotter sparking between them. Then Yolanda shoved her. Latrice’s back hit the edge of the counter. The housedress slipped off one shoulder, exposing the upper curve of one heavy breast.
Yolanda’s eyes dropped to it. The fight changed shape in real time.
“You always throwing these around like they mean something,” Yolanda said, voice lower now. She reached out and cupped the exposed breast through the thin fabric, squeezing hard enough to make Latrice’s breath catch. “They don’t. I had Tyrone’s mouth on me before you ever did.”
Latrice grabbed a handful of Yolanda’s tank top and yanked her closer. “Then put your mouth where your mouth been then.”
They kissed like they were still trying to win the argument—teeth, tongue, harsh breathing. Yolanda’s hands shoved the housedress down Latrice’s arms until it pooled at her waist, freeing both heavy breasts. She took one in each hand, thumbs dragging across the thick nipples until they stiffened. Latrice made a rough sound into her mouth and shoved a hand down the front of Yolanda’s shorts, finding her already wet.
They stumbled sideways. A chair scraped. Somewhere in the exchange the rest of Latrice’s housedress hit the floor, followed by Yolanda’s tank top and shorts. Both women ended up on the worn linoleum, the fluorescent light humming above them, the trailer quiet except for the wet sounds of mouths and hands.
Yolanda pushed Latrice onto her back and straddled her stomach, heavy breasts hanging as she leaned down and took one of Latrice’s nipples into her mouth. She sucked hard, teeth grazing, while her fingers worked between Latrice’s thick thighs, spreading her open and pushing two fingers inside without warning. Latrice’s back arched. Her hands came up and fisted in Yolanda’s hair, holding her to the breast.
“That’s right,” Yolanda muttered against her skin. “You talk all that shit and your pussy still this wet for me.”
She kissed her way down Latrice’s soft stomach, shoved her thighs wider, and put her mouth on her. Latrice’s head thumped back against the floor. Yolanda licked through her folds in long, deliberate strokes, then sealed her lips around the clit and sucked while her fingers kept working inside. The wet, rhythmic sounds filled the small kitchen.
From the hallway, Junior watched.
He had come in through the back door looking for something to drink and stopped cold when he heard the first moan. Now he stood in the shadowed hallway in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, cock already hard and tenting the front as he watched his mother and his aunt on the kitchen floor. Yolanda’s thick ass was in the air, her face buried between Latrice’s legs. Latrice’s heavy breasts had fallen sideways with the force of her breathing, one dark nipple still shiny from Yolanda’s mouth.
Junior pushed his shorts down just far enough to free his cock. He wrapped a hand around it and stroked slow, eyes fixed on the two women.
On the floor, Latrice reached down and grabbed Yolanda’s hips, pulling her around until she could get her mouth on her in return. They settled into a messy sixty-nine on the linoleum, both of them licking and sucking with open hunger, fingers still buried in each other. The wet sounds grew louder. Soft, broken moans mixed with the occasional filthy word.
“Eat that pussy,” Latrice rasped against Yolanda’s thigh. “Don’t act like you don’t miss it.”
Yolanda answered by pushing a third finger into her and sucking harder on her clit. Latrice’s hips jerked. She came first, thighs clamping around Yolanda’s head, a long, low moan rolling out of her while her pussy pulsed around the fingers inside her. Yolanda kept licking her through it, then pulled back enough to speak.
“Your turn.”
She didn’t wait. She sat up, turned, and lowered herself onto Latrice’s face, grinding down while she reached back and kept fingering her. Latrice’s hands came up and gripped Yolanda’s thick ass, pulling her down harder onto her mouth. She licked and sucked with the same rough attention Yolanda had given her, tongue pushing inside, nose pressed against her clit.
That was when Yolanda opened her eyes and saw Junior in the hallway.
She didn’t stop grinding on Latrice’s face. She only smiled, slow and mean, and crooked a finger at him.
“You just gone stand there jacking that dick or you gone bring it over here?”
Junior stepped into the kitchen, shorts still shoved down under his balls, cock rigid and already leaking at the tip. Latrice made a muffled sound when she realized they weren’t alone, but Yolanda kept her hips rolling, keeping her in place.
“He been watching the whole time,” Yolanda said, looking down at Latrice. “Look at him. Hard as hell watching his mama eat this pussy.”
She reached out, wrapped her hand around Junior’s cock, and pulled him closer by it. “Put it in her mouth. She can breathe around it.”
Junior dropped to his knees beside them. Yolanda lifted her hips just enough for Latrice to turn her head. Junior guided the head of his cock to his mother’s lips. Latrice opened for him. He pushed in slow, feeling the wet heat of her mouth close around him while Yolanda settled back onto her face.
The three of them found a rhythm. Junior fucked his mother’s mouth in shallow strokes. Yolanda ground her pussy against Latrice’s tongue. Latrice took both of them—her son’s cock stretching her lips, her sister-in-law’s wet cunt on her mouth—while her own hips kept moving against the fingers Yolanda still had inside her.
Yolanda leaned over and spat on Latrice’s pussy, then pushed a fourth finger in, stretching her open while she watched Junior’s cock disappear between Latrice’s lips.
“Look at you,” she said to Latrice, voice thick with heat. “Taking your son’s dick in your mouth while you eat my pussy. Don’t act like this ain’t what you wanted.”
Latrice moaned around Junior’s cock. The vibration made his hips jerk. He reached down and cupped one of his mother’s heavy breasts, squeezing the soft flesh while he used her mouth. Yolanda watched for another minute, then lifted off Latrice’s face and shifted around.
“My turn with that dick.”
She pushed Junior onto his back on the linoleum and straddled his chest facing Latrice. Then she leaned forward, took his cock into her mouth, and started sucking him with the same wet, noisy enthusiasm she had shown earlier in her own trailer. At the same time she pushed her ass back toward Latrice.
“Eat it while I suck him.”
Latrice didn’t need to be told twice. She spread Yolanda open with both hands and put her mouth back on her, licking through the slick folds, sucking on her clit, pushing her tongue inside. Junior lay between them, one aunt sucking his cock while his mother ate that same aunt’s pussy inches from his face. The wet sounds of both mouths filled the kitchen.
Yolanda pulled off his cock long enough to speak, spit still connecting her lips to the head. “Don’t you cum yet. You cum when we say.”
She went back down, taking him deep, gagging softly when he hit the back of her throat, then pulling off to work the head with her tongue. Latrice kept eating her from behind, one hand reaching under to stroke Junior’s balls while she did it. Junior’s hands settled on Yolanda’s hips, holding on while the two older women used him between them.
After several long minutes Yolanda lifted her head again. “Switch.”
They moved with practiced ease. Latrice took Junior’s cock into her mouth this time, sucking him with slower, deeper pulls, while Yolanda sat on her face once more. Junior watched his mother’s lips stretch around him and his aunt’s thick ass settle over her mouth. He reached up and played with Yolanda’s heavy breasts, pinching the nipples while Latrice sucked him and ate Yolanda at the same time.
The kitchen floor was hard on his back. He didn’t care. The sight of the two women—his mother and his aunt—passing his cock between their mouths while they fingered and licked each other was enough to keep him right on the edge without tipping over.
Yolanda came first, grinding hard on Latrice’s tongue, a low, broken moan leaving her as her thighs shook. She stayed there until the last wave passed, then lifted off and looked down at Junior.
“Your turn. Cum in your mama’s mouth.”
Latrice pulled off his cock just long enough to look at him, lips swollen and shiny. Then she sank back down and sucked him with clear intent, one hand stroking what she couldn’t fit, the other still working between Yolanda’s thighs. Junior’s hips lifted off the floor. The pleasure built fast and mean. He came with a deep groan, flooding his mother’s mouth in thick pulses. Latrice stayed on him, swallowing what she could, letting the rest leak from the corner of her lips.
When he finally stopped twitching she pulled off and sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Yolanda leaned over and kissed her, slow and deliberate, tasting Junior on her tongue. They stayed like that for a moment, kissing over his spent body, before finally separating.
Junior lay on the kitchen floor breathing hard, shorts still around his thighs, the taste of both women somewhere in the air. Latrice found her housedress and pulled it on without bothering with panties. Yolanda stepped back into her shorts and tank top, not caring that both were inside out.
Nobody spoke for a long minute. The fluorescent light kept humming. From the back of the trailer Grandma Pearl’s radio played something low and old. Outside a dog barked once and went quiet.
Yolanda looked down at Junior, then at Latrice, and gave a small, satisfied shrug.
“Next time y’all want to fight,” she said, “just start with the pussy. Save everybody some time.”
She walked out of the kitchen toward her own trailer without waiting for an answer. Latrice watched her go, then looked down at her son still sprawled on the linoleum. She nudged his hip with her foot, not unkindly.
“Get up and put your clothes on before your daddy come in here asking why the kitchen smell like sex.”
Junior sat up slowly, pulled his shorts back into place, and got to his feet. The taste of the afternoon stayed with all three of them as the ordinary sounds of the trailer park filtered back in through the thin walls, the argument long finished and the new arrangement already settling into the family’s private order of things.

From the novel: Giving Up The Rawls by BlacOnBlakMajik

The plate was already cooling in Junior’s hands by the time he reached the back of the double-wide. Grease had begun to thicken around the fried chicken. The greens sat in a dull pool of pot liquor. Two slices of white bread and a small bowl of peach cobbler rounded it out. Latrice had pushed it at him with a flat look and the words “Don’t take all night,” then turned back to the stove. Junior carried it down the narrow hallway, the smell of the food mixing with the older, heavier scents that always lived in this end of the trailer—powder, liniment, warm skin, and the faint metallic tang of the window unit.
He knocked once.
“Bring it in.”
Pearl’s voice came low and rough, the sound of decades of cigarettes and unfiltered living. Junior pushed the door open with his shoulder. The room was small and dim, lit only by the single lamp on the nightstand. The air was thicker in here, humid, carrying the unmistakable musk of an older woman’s body that no longer bothered with perfume. Pearl sat propped against the headboard in a thin floral nightgown that had gone almost translucent from years of washing. At seventy-two she was still large—heavy breasts that rested low and full against her soft stomach, thick arms, wide hips, and thighs that kept their weight. Her dark skin was deeply lined. Her hair was wrapped in a satin scarf. Her eyes, though, were sharp and already locked on him.
Junior set the plate on the nightstand. The ceramic clicked against the wood.
Pearl’s hand shot out and closed around his wrist. Her palm was soft but her grip was firm, the strength of a woman who had never stopped taking what she wanted.
“Close the door.”
He did. The latch clicked loud in the quiet. Pearl tugged him closer until he stood right beside the narrow bed. Her eyes dropped straight to the front of his basketball shorts. The heavy shape of his cock was already starting to push against the fabric from the way she was looking at him.
“You been walking around this trailer all day with that thing half-hard,” she said. Her voice stayed low, almost conversational. “I heard you in Yolanda’s place earlier. Heard the bed. Heard you listening to your daddy in Shanice’s room this morning too. You think these walls don’t talk to me?” She gave his wrist another pull. “Take the shorts off. Now.”
Junior hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pushed them down. His cock sprang free—thick, dark, already rising, the head swelling and shiny at the tip with a clear bead of pre-cum. The cooler air of the room touched the heated skin. Pearl reached out with her free hand and wrapped her lined fingers around the shaft. She felt the weight of it, the heat, the way it twitched hard in her palm. She stroked him once, slow and tight, from the base all the way to the head, smearing the pre-cum around the sensitive crown with her thumb.
“Same as your daddy at your age,” she muttered, watching the cock flex in her hand. “Maybe thicker. He used to stand right where you standing now and let me look at it just like this.” She gave him another slow, twisting stroke. The wet sound of her palm moving over him was soft but clear. “Get on the bed.”
Junior climbed onto the narrow mattress. The old springs creaked under his weight. Pearl watched him stretch out, then reached down and pulled her nightgown up and over her head in one motion. Her body came into the low yellow light without any attempt at cover—soft, lined stomach, heavy pendulous breasts with wide dark nipples that were already slightly stiff, the thick thatch of gray-streaked hair between her thighs already glistening at the center. She tossed the nightgown aside. The smell of her skin and the warmer scent of her cunt rose in the small space.
She moved closer on her knees and cupped one heavy breast, lifting the soft weight toward his face.
“Come here. Put your mouth on me.”
Junior shifted onto his side. He took the offered breast in both hands. The flesh was soft, dense, and warm, the skin slightly loose with age but still full. He closed his mouth around the thick nipple and sucked. The taste was clean skin and faint salt. Pearl’s free hand settled on the back of his head and pressed him harder against her.
“That’s right. Suck it. Get it good and wet. Use your tongue.” Her voice stayed steady while he worked, but her breathing had already deepened. “Your daddy used to fall asleep with his mouth on me some nights when he was your age. Used to sneak in here after everybody else went to bed and just nurse on me like that. Keep sucking. Don’t be gentle.”
Junior sucked harder, drawing the wide nipple deep into his mouth, tongue dragging over it in firm strokes. He switched to the other breast when she guided him, squeezing and lifting the soft flesh while he nursed. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the quiet. Pearl’s hand slid down his stomach, found his cock again, and started stroking him in time with the pulls of his mouth—slow, firm, twisting at the head on every upstroke so the pre-cum smeared wetly across her fingers and his shaft. The dual sensation of her heavy breast in his mouth and her practiced hand on his cock made his hips twitch.
She kept him there for a long time, switching him from one breast to the other whenever she felt like it, making him suck until both nipples were dark and wet and stiff. Only when her own breathing had grown heavier did she tug on his shoulder.
“On your back.”
Junior rolled onto his back. One arm hung slightly off the edge of the narrow bed. Pearl moved with the slow, certain weight of a woman who had been doing this longer than he had been alive. She swung one thick leg over his chest, then kept climbing until her knees bracketed his head. The heavy undersides of her breasts and the soft curve of her stomach filled his vision. The stronger, muskier scent of her cunt hit him full in the face as she positioned herself above his mouth.
“You know what to do,” she said. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”
She lowered her cunt onto his face.
Hot, slick folds met his mouth immediately. Pearl was already soaked—thick, slippery wetness coating his lips and chin on the first contact. Junior’s tongue pushed through the soft, swollen lips and found the slippery heat inside. He licked in long, deliberate strokes from the bottom of her opening up to her clit, then sealed his lips around the swollen nub and sucked. The taste was strong, salty-sweet, and unmistakably cunt. Pearl let out a low, guttural breath and settled more of her weight onto his face, her soft thighs pressing warm and heavy against his ears. The smell of her filled his nose until it was all he could breathe.
She braced one hand on the headboard and started rocking against his mouth in small, controlled motions, smearing her wetness across his nose, lips, and chin.
“Yes,” she murmured, voice thicker now. “Eat that pussy. Get your tongue up in it. Suck on my clit.” She ground down harder, the wet sounds of his mouth working her growing louder and filthier. “Your daddy was good at this once I taught him. Used to stay down there until his jaw locked and his face was shining. Keep that tongue moving. Don’t you stop.”
Junior gripped her thick thighs and pulled her down tighter. He pushed his tongue as deep inside her as he could, then dragged it back up to her clit and sucked hard, alternating between long licks and focused suction. Pearl’s wetness ran down his chin and onto his neck. Her free hand reached back, found his cock, and started stroking him again while she rode his face—tight, wet strokes that matched the rhythm of her hips. The dual sensation of her cunt grinding on his mouth and her hand working his cock kept him rigid and leaking against his stomach.
She came the first time with a deep, rolling moan that started low in her chest. Her thighs clamped hard around his head. Her cunt pulsed in strong, rhythmic contractions against his tongue, more thick wetness flooding his mouth. She stayed there, grinding through every wave, until the last tremor passed. Only then did she lift herself, leaving his face shiny and dripping with her.
She moved back down his body. Junior’s cock stood rigid and dark against his stomach, the head swollen and shiny, the shaft slick from her hand. Pearl looked at it for a long moment, then swung her leg over his hips. She held him steady with one hand and lowered herself onto him.
The thick head stretched her open. She took him slowly, inch by inch, her mouth falling open as the heat and size of him filled her. The wet, tight slide of her cunt around his cock was audible in the quiet room. When she finally sat fully in his lap, both of them stayed still, breathing hard. Junior could feel every flutter of her walls around him.
“There it is,” she said, voice rough. “All the way in. You feel how deep you are inside your grandma’s pussy? You feel how wet I got for this dick?”
Junior nodded, hands settling on the soft, wide flesh of her hips. Pearl began to move with the practiced rhythm of decades—slow, rolling rises that let him feel every inch of her gripping him, then deep, deliberate drops that took him to the root and made her heavy breasts sway and slap softly against her own stomach. The wet sound of her cunt taking his cock over and over filled the small room along with the creak of the old bedframe.
She braced her hands on his chest and looked down at him while she fucked herself on his cock.
“Your daddy used to look at me just like that,” she said, voice steady even as her hips worked. “Used to hold my hips the same way. I taught him how to stay still and let me use him. Taught him how to last so he wouldn’t waste a load too fast. You listening to me, Junior?”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“Good. Because this is family pussy. You don’t rush it. You let me take what I need from this dick.”
She rose higher and dropped down harder. The wet slap of her soft ass and thighs against him grew louder, sharper. Junior’s fingers dug into her flesh hard enough to leave marks. Pearl kept talking between heavier breaths, telling him in explicit detail how Tyrone used to sneak into her room at his age, how she used to make him eat her until her thighs were shaking and her cunt was dripping down his chin before she ever let him put it in, how she still remembered the exact broken sound he made the first time she rode him like this and forced him to cum deep inside her.
The rhythm built. Pearl leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of Junior’s head so her heavy, soft breasts hung directly over his face. He lifted his head and took one thick nipple back into his mouth, sucking hard, biting down just enough to make her hiss, then soothing with his tongue. Her soft stomach pressed warm and damp against him. The bedframe creaked in a steady, filthy rhythm. The wet sound of her cunt sliding up and down his cock was constant now—slick, obscene, unmistakable.
“You getting close,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She could feel him swelling and throbbing harder inside her. “Don’t you cum until I say. You hold that load for me. You understand?”
Junior made a strained, muffled sound around her breast but nodded. Pearl kept the same relentless pace, rising and dropping, grinding her swollen clit against him on every downstroke, while he sucked her nipple and gripped her hips. Sweat sheened on both of their bodies. The smell of sex—cunt, sweat, and skin—filled the small room until it was almost choking.
She reached between them with one hand and rubbed her own clit in tight, fast, wet circles while she continued to fuck herself on his cock. Her thighs began to tremble. Her breathing turned into short, harsh pants.
“Now,” she ordered, voice breaking into a growl. “Give it to me. Fill this old pussy up. Cum in your grandma.”
Junior’s control shattered. He thrust up hard and came with a deep, guttural groan that seemed to tear out of his chest. His cock pulsed in heavy, thick spurts, flooding her in long, hot jets. Pearl kept grinding through every pulse, her own orgasm crashing over her in a long, low, broken moan that shook her whole body. Her cunt clamped down around him in strong, rhythmic waves, milking every drop he had, the wetness between them turning thicker and hotter as his cum mixed with hers and began to leak out around his shaft with every small movement.
She stayed on top of him until both of them had stopped shaking. Then she lifted off slowly. A thick, heavy mixture of cum and her own juices immediately ran out of her in a long, sticky strand, dripping onto his cock and the sheet beneath them. The smell of it rose strong between their bodies. Pearl looked down at the mess between her thighs, at the way his cum coated her swollen folds and the base of his still-twitching cock, and gave a small, deeply satisfied nod.
“Clean me up.”
Junior sat up, breathing hard. Pearl lay back against the headboard and spread her thick thighs wide without any hesitation. The pink-and-dark folds of her cunt were swollen, shiny, and leaking his cum in slow thick trails. He moved between her legs and put his mouth on her again. The taste hit him immediately—strong, salty, the thick flavor of his own cum mixed with the deeper musk of her pussy. He licked through the slick, cum-filled folds in long, thorough strokes, sucked her clit, pushed his tongue inside her to scoop out every bit of what he had left in her. He worked slowly and messily until her cunt was clean enough to satisfy her and his own face was once again shining with the mixture of them both.
When he finished she stroked the back of his head once, her fingers damp.
“Good boy.”
She reached for the nightgown and pulled it back over her head while Junior found his shorts. The plate of food on the nightstand sat completely untouched, the grease now fully cold. Pearl glanced at it, then at him, her eyes still heavy with satisfaction.
“Tell your mama the food was fine. And Junior—”
He paused at the door, the heavy taste of her cunt and his own cum still thick on his tongue.
“You come back tomorrow night. Bring the plate again. We ain’t done. This pussy still got plenty of use for that dick, and I expect you to bring it when I call for it.”
Junior nodded once. He stepped out into the narrow hallway, closed the door quietly behind him, and stood there for a long moment in the dim light. The taste of his grandmother stayed in his mouth. The smell of her cunt clung to his face and fingers. The deep, satisfied ache in his cock and balls already felt like something permanent. From the front of the trailer he could hear the television and the ordinary murmur of evening talk. He smoothed his shirt down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and walked toward it like nothing had happened—the way everyone in the family had learned to walk after these things—while behind the closed door Grandma Pearl settled back against her headboard, thighs still slightly open, the slow leak of his cum still warm between her legs, the private order of the household confirmed once more in the dark.

From the novel: Giving Up The Rawls by BlacOnBlakMajik