Mother and daughter change roles
The ceramic plate shattered against the refrigerator door, sending slivers of white porcelain skittering across the linoleum. "I can't even *see* it anymore!" Ron's voice cracked like the plate had—raw, jagged, the kind of sound that made Mel freeze halfway down the staircase. Through the balusters, she watched her mother's bulk shift uncomfortably in the kitchen chair, the wood groaning under Lyn's weight as she folded her dimpled arms over the shelf of her stomach. "You used to *want* me," Lyn whispered, and the way she said it—like she was already mourning something—sent a strange heat crawling up Mel's thighs.
Ron didn't answer. He just stared at the spill of cold spaghetti on the floor, the sauce pooling like blood. Mel's breath hitched when his calloused fingers twitched toward his belt buckle, then away. She'd seen that gesture before, in the dark of her bedroom when she pressed her palm between her legs and imagined his hands instead of hers. The fantasy had been abstract until now—until this moment, with her mother's humiliation thick in the air and her father's shoulders rigid with frustration.
The fridge hummed, loud in the silence. Lyn's breathing was wet, laboured, and Mel suddenly hated the sound of it. Hated the way it reminded her of wet laundry sloshing in the machine. She took another step down, her bare foot meeting a shard of porcelain. The sharpness made her gasp, but the pain was clean—nothing like the suffocating mess in the kitchen. Ron's head snapped up at the sound. His eyes locked onto hers, and something flickered there. Something hotter than anger.
Mel's pulse throbbed in her throat. She'd practiced this moment in the dark, whispering her own name in the voice she imagined he'd use. But now, with Lyn's bulk between them and the sour tang of tomato sauce thickening the air, it was different. Real. Ron's fingers twitched again. This time, they didn't pull away from his belt. The leather rasped as he undid it, slow. Deliberate. The sound coiled low in Mel's belly, tightening like a spring.
Lyn's chair creaked as she turned. "Ron—" Her voice broke off when she saw where he was looking. Mel watched her mother's face crumple, the way her chins trembled before she pressed them into her chest. The fridge shuddered, cycling off. In the sudden quiet, Mel could hear the wet click of her own swallow, the whisper of her cotton panties as she shifted her weight.
Ron didn't move toward her—not yet. He let the belt dangle loose around his hips, the metal tip brushing his thigh. Mel's mouth went dry. She remembered the time she'd borrowed that belt, cinching it around her school skirt just to feel the ghost of his fingers on the leather. Now, his knuckles whitened around the buckle. "Go upstairs," he said, but his voice was rough, uneven. A command that begged to be disobeyed.
The linoleum was cold under Mel's feet as she stepped around the shattered plate. She could smell Lyn—baby powder and sweat—could see the way her mother's fingers dug into her own fleshy thighs, leaving pale crescents in the doughy skin. But it was Ron's gaze that burned her, tracing the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. She arched her back, just slightly, and his breath hitched. The sound was better than anything she'd imagined in the dark.
Lyn made a wet, strangled noise. "Look at me," she pleaded, but Ron's eyes stayed locked on Mel. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, slow, like he was savouring the taste of something forbidden. Mel's pulse thrummed between her legs, a dull ache that made her press her thighs together. The friction was delicious, unbearable. She let out a tiny whimper—soft enough to pretend was accidental—and Ron's nostrils flared.
The kitchen smelled like garlic and shame. Lyn's bulk quivered as she tried to stand, her thighs slapping together with a sound like raw meat hitting a countertop. Mel didn't look away from her father. She reached up, deliberately slow, and tugged the neckline of her nightshirt just enough to expose the pale swell of one breast. Ron's belt clattered to the floor.
Something hot and slick pulsed between Mel's legs when her father took a step forward—not toward Lyn's grasping hands, but toward the staircase where she stood. The broken porcelain crunched under his work boots, each crackle syncopated with the wet hitch of Lyn's breathing. Mel's skin prickled, alive with the awareness of how little fabric separated her body from his gaze. She arched her foot over the next step, letting the hem ride up her thigh.
Ron's fingers grazed the banister—once, twice—then closed around her wrist. His callouses snagged on her pulse point, rough enough to make her shudder. Mel could smell him now: motor oil and the metallic tang of his sweat, layered under something darker, muskier. His thumb pressed into the delicate bones of her wrist, testing, and she whimpered again—louder this time, letting it drip into the silence like syrup.
Behind them, Lyn made a sound like a wounded animal, her bulk shifting with a wet, fleshy noise. The fridge kicked back on with a groan, its vibration thrumming through the floorboards and up Mel's bare legs. Ron exhaled through his nose, hot and uneven, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her temple. She could feel the ridge of his knuckles against her inner thigh now, the weight of his palm hovering just shy of pressing in. The air between them crackled, thick with the scent of her own arousal, salty-sweet under the stale kitchen smells.
"Daddy," Mel murmured, tilting her hips toward his hand—not quite contact, but the promise of it. "Take me here." She flicked her gaze toward Lyn's crumpled form, the way her mother's fingers dug into the softness of her own thighs. "Let Mummy watch." The words dripped from her lips, sticky with intention. Ron's grip tightened, his fingers branding her skin as he hauled her against him, the hard line of his erection pressing through his work pants. Mel gasped, arching into the heat of him, her nipples pebbling against the thin cotton of her nightshirt.
Lyn's sob cracked through the kitchen like another shattered plate. "Please—" she choked out, but Ron was already walking Mel backward, his free hand fumbling for the hem of her nightshirt. The fabric rode up, exposing the pale curve of her stomach, the damp lace of her panties. Mel's breath hitched as the cold banister pressed into her spine, the wood rough against her bare skin. Ron's thumb hooked into the waistband of her panties, tugging just enough to make her whimper. "Look at her," he growled against Mel's throat, his teeth scraping her pulse point. "Look how pretty she is when she's broken."
The refrigerator light flickered, casting Lyn's shadow across the linoleum—a shapeless, quivering mass. Mel arched her back, letting her father's calloused palm slide higher, his fingers dipping beneath the lace. The gasp she made was half-real, half-performance, just loud enough for Lyn to hear. Ron's breath was ragged against her collarbone, his hips grinding into hers with a rhythm that sent sparks up her spine. "Daddy loves you," he murmured, and the words vibrated through her ribs like a struck chord. Mel squeezed her thighs around his wrist, trapping his fingers where she wanted them most.
Lyn's chair groaned as she heaved forward, her swollen knees slapping against the tile. "Please—" she sobbed, but Ron's mouth was already on Mel's nipple, his tongue circling the stiff peak through the damp fabric. Mel's vision blurred at the edges; she could taste copper where she'd bitten her lip. The banister dug into her lower back, a counterpoint to the molten heat pooling between her legs. Ron's teeth scraped her flesh, possessive, and she moaned—high and sweet, the way she'd practiced alone in the shower.
The fridge light buzzed overhead, flickering across Lyn's tear-streaked face as she pawed at her own sagging breasts. Mel watched her mother's fingers sink into the doughy flesh, the pathetic imitation of what Ron was doing to her. It sent a fresh surge of wetness between her thighs. Ron growled against her skin, his free hand yanking her panties aside with a snap of elastic. The cold air kissed her exposed folds before his thick fingers slid in—not gently, the way she touched herself, but with a rough urgency that made her toes curl.
Lyn's breath hitched wetly as Ron's thumb found Mel's clit, circling with the same practiced rhythm he'd once used on her mother. Mel's hips jerked, the banister digging harder into her spine. She arched her throat, letting Ron's teeth mark her—wanting Lyn to see the purple bloom tomorrow. "She's so tight," Ron rasped, his voice guttural. He twisted his fingers inside her, the stretch burning deliciously. Mel's moan broke into a gasp when he crooked them just right, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing over that sweet spot that made her vision whiten.
The kitchen reeked of sex now—salt and musk layered over the sour tomato sauce. Lyn's whimper was almost lost under the wet slap of Ron's fingers driving into Mel. He pulled them out glistening, pressing them to Mel's lips. She sucked them clean, tasting herself—bitter and electric—while Lyn's ragged breathing hitched. "Daddy," Mel purred, dragging her tongue over his knuckles. "Make her see how much better I feel." Ron's growl vibrated through her as he shoved her panties down her thighs, the lace catching on one ankle.
Mel's back arched off the banister when Ron's cockhead nudged her entrance, the blunt pressure stealing her breath. She watched Lyn's face crumple as he sheathed himself inside her in one brutal thrust. The stretch burned—hotter than she'd imagined—her cunt clamping down around him instinctively. Ron's groan was raw, his hips stuttering as he bottomed out. Mel's nails scored his shoulders, her thighs trembling where they bracketed his hips. "Fuck," he gritted out, his breath scalding her neck. "Tighter than your mother ever was."
Lyn's chair screeched as she lurched forward, her bloated belly jiggling under her stained housecoat. "Please—" she sobbed, but Ron was already moving, his thrusts jerky and uneven like he'd been starving for this. Mel's head knocked against the banister with each snap of his hips, the wood biting into her scalp. She could feel Lyn's gaze like a physical weight—sticky and desperate—sliding over where their bodies joined. Ron's thumb found her clit again, rough circles that made her vision blur. "Look at her," he panted against her mouth. "Look how wet you're making her."
Mel's thighs quivered, the muscles fluttering around Ron's cock as he bottomed out with a grunt. The fridge light flickered overhead, casting Lyn's shadow across their tangled bodies—distorted and shuddering like a dying thing. Ron's teeth scraped Mel's collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. "She's crying," he murmured, and the words sent a fresh pulse of wetness between Mel's legs. Lyn's tears dripped onto her own swollen thighs, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her housecoat. Mel arched into Ron's next thrust, her moan high and breathless. "Daddy, harder—let her see how deep you fit."
Ron's grip on her hips tightened, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he drove into her. The banister creaked under their combined weight, the wood groaning like Lyn had when she'd last tried to climb the stairs. Mel's cunt clenched around him, each ridge of his cock dragging against her inner walls in a way that made her toes curl. She could hear Lyn's wet, open-mouthed breathing, could smell the sour tang of her desperation. Ron's chuckle vibrated against Mel's throat—dark, satisfied—as he angled his hips to hit that spot that made her see stars. "She's touching herself," he growled. "Pathetic."
Mel's fingers tangled in Ron's hair, pulling just hard enough to make him hiss. The pain twisted his face into something beautiful—rapturous and feral—before he retaliated by biting down on her nipple through the damp fabric. The sharp pleasure-pain radiated outward, pooling low in her belly like spilled syrup. Lyn's moan was thick, broken, and when Mel cracked her eyes open, she saw her mother's fingers buried between her own doughy thighs, working furiously. The sight sent another pulse of heat through her, her cunt fluttering around Ron's cock. "Daddy," she gasped, arching her back to give him better access. "Make her taste me."
Ron's movements stuttered, his breath hot against her collarbone. His fingers—still slick with her—dug into Lyn's hair, dragging her forward until her face hovered inches from Mel's glistening thighs. Lyn's lips trembled, her breath coming in wet, staccato bursts against Mel's overheated skin. Ron's grip tightened, his fingers twisting in Lyn's greasy curls. "Lick her clean," he growled, thrusting deeper into Mel as if to emphasize the command. Lyn's whimper was muffled against Mel's inner thigh, her tongue darting out tentatively—like someone tasting something forbidden.
The first swipe of her mother's tongue sent an electric jolt up Mel's spine, her cunt clenching reflexively around Ron's cock. Lyn's mouth was warm, hesitant, her movements clumsy with shame, but the sheer wrongness of it made Mel's toes curl against the linoleum. Ron's hips snapped forward, driving himself deeper as Lyn's tongue traced the seam of Mel's labia, her nose bumping against Ron's thrusting pelvis. Mel's breath hitched—sharp and sudden—when Lyn's lips closed around her clit, sucking gently, the way Ron used to before Lyn's body became an impassable continent.
Ron's fingers tightened in Lyn's hair, forcing her face harder against Mel's dripping flesh. "Swallow her," he gritted out, his voice rough with exertion. Mel could feel the vibration of Lyn's whimper against her sensitive skin, the wet heat of her mother's reluctant mouth forming a filthy counterpoint to Ron's relentless thrusts. The dual sensation—her father's cock splitting her open while her mother's tongue lapped at the mess they made—sent Mel's vision whiting out at the edges. Her thighs trembled violently, her fingernails carving crescent moons into Ron's sweat-slick shoulders.
Lyn's breath came in wet, hiccoughing gasps against Mel's inner thigh, her lips smeared with her daughter's arousal. Ron yanked her head back by the roots of her hair, exposing Lyn's tear-streaked face to the flickering fridge light. "Strip," he ordered, his voice guttural. "Let her see what she's replacing." Lyn's hands shook as they fumbled with the tie of her housecoat, the fabric gaping to reveal rolls of pallid flesh dimpled with stretch marks. The scent of stale sweat and baby powder bloomed thick in the air as the robe pooled around Lyn's swollen ankles, her sagging breasts swaying with every ragged breath.
Mel moaned when Ron's cock twitched inside her at the sight—a visceral reaction that sent sparks up her spine. Lyn's nakedness was grotesque, mesmerizing; the way her belly folded over her pubis, the dark thatch of hair glistening with unshed tears. Ron's free hand groped Lyn's pendulous breast, his fingers sinking into the doughy flesh as he thrust harder into Mel. "Look at her," he panted, pinching Lyn's nipple until she whimpered. "Look how pathetic she is." Mel's cunt clenched around him in response, her hips jerking to meet his strokes as she stared at her mother's trembling bulk.
The fridge light buzzed louder, casting jagged shadows across Lyn's stretch-marked thighs. Ron released Mel's hip long enough to slap Lyn's belly—the sound wet, meaty—making the fat ripple obscenely. Lyn's sob caught in her throat as Ron's palm left a red imprint on her sagging flesh. Mel arched her back, the banister biting into her shoulder blades, her own body taut where Lyn's was soft. Ron's teeth scraped her collarbone as he fucked her, his sweat dripping onto her chest. "Daddy loves your tight little cunt," he growled, and the words vibrated through Mel's ribs like a struck chord.
Mel's thighs trembled around Ron's hips, her toes curling against the linoleum. Lyn's fingers dug into her own flabby stomach, her nails leaving pale trails in the doughy flesh. Ron's thrusts grew erratic, his breath hot and ragged against Mel's throat. She could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the way his fingers dug into her hips like he wanted to leave bruises. "Daddy, please," Mel gasped, her voice high and desperate. "Fill me up—I want to feel you dripping out of me." Her cunt clenched around him, milking his cock, urging him deeper.
Ron's groan was raw, his hips stuttering as he bottomed out inside her. Mel could feel the moment he came—the hot pulse of his cum flooding her, the way his cock twitched against her inner walls. Lyn's breath hitched, her eyes locked on where their bodies joined. Ron pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with their combined fluids. He grabbed Lyn by the hair, forcing her face toward Mel's dripping cunt. "Clean her," he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. Lyn's tongue darted out, tentative at first, then eager, lapping at the mess her daughter and husband had made.
Mel gasped as Lyn's tongue probed deeper, swirling around her swollen folds, sucking Ron's cum from her entrance. The sensation was electric—her mother's warm mouth, the shameful desperation in her movements, the way her tongue trembled against Mel's sensitive flesh. Ron's fingers tightened in Lyn's hair, guiding her, forcing her to take every last drop. Lyn moaned—low and broken—as she swallowed, her lips smeared with their mingled fluids. Mel's thighs quivered, her body still humming from the aftershocks of her own climax.
Ron watched them with heavy-lidded eyes, his cock twitching against Lyn's bloated stomach as she knelt between Mel's spread legs. The fridge light buzzed overhead, casting their tangled shadows against the kitchen wall—a grotesque tableau of lust and submission. Lyn's breath hitched wetly when Ron pushed her head back toward Mel's cunt, his thumb tracing the sticky mess between her lips. "Again," he murmured, and Mel shuddered at the dark promise in his voice. Lyn obeyed, her tongue lapping at Mel's folds with a fervour that bordered on worship.
Mel's thighs trembled with overstimulation, her clit throbbing under her mother's rough tongue. She could taste herself on Lyn's lips when Ron crushed their mouths together—a bitter, electric tang that made her whimper. Lyn's hands fluttered uselessly against Ron's hips, her fingers sinking into his flesh like dough as he guided her face back down. The wet, obscene sounds of her mother swallowing his cum filled the kitchen, punctuated by Ron's low groans. Mel arched her back when Lyn's tongue probed deeper, swirling inside her with a desperation that bordered on hunger.
Ron's thumb pressed against Mel's swollen clit, grinding in rough circles as Lyn lapped at her stretched entrance. The dual sensation—her father's calloused fingers and her mother's trembling mouth—sent sparks skittering up Mel's spine. Lyn's nose bumped against Ron's knuckles with each thrust of her tongue, her breath hot and ragged against Mel's oversensitive flesh. The fridge hummed, its vibration thrumming through the floorboards and into Mel's bones, amplifying the tremors wracking her body.
"Daddy," Mel gasped, arching her back until the banister dug into her shoulder blades. "Make her—" The words dissolved into a moan as Lyn's lips sealed around her entrance, sucking hard enough to pull another gush of Ron's cum from her twitching cunt. The sound was obscenely wet, Lyn's throat working as she swallowed with a desperation that made Mel's thighs quiver. Ron's chuckle was dark, satisfied, his fingers tightening in Lyn's greasy hair as he guided her deeper.
Lyn's nose pressed into the coarse thatch of Mel's pubic hair, her breath hot and uneven against oversensitive flesh. Mel could feel the flutter of her mother's eyelashes against her inner thigh, the way Lyn's tongue trembled as it probed deeper—like she was afraid to miss a single drop. Ron's thumb smeared the mess across Mel's swollen clit, the rough pad of his callus catching just right. "Good girl," he murmured, and Lyn's answering whimper vibrated against Mel's slit.
Mel's thighs twitched violently when Lyn's tongue found the thickest pooling of cum inside her—warm and bitter-salty against her mother's tentative taste buds. Ron's fingers tightened in Lyn's hair, forcing her chin up to watch the viscous strands stretch between tongue and cunt. The fridge light buzzed overhead, catching the slick shine on Lyn's quivering lower lip. Mel arched her back, pressing her mother's face harder between her legs. "Deeper," she gasped, grinding against Lyn's nose.
Ron exhaled through his nose—a rough, satisfied sound—as he traced Lyn's spit-slick chin with his thumb. The contrast was obscene: Lyn's doughy jowls trembling under his touch while Mel's lean muscles flexed around her. Mel watched her mother's throat work as she swallowed, the sagging skin of her neck wobbling with each reluctant gulp. The air smelled like sex and shame and the metallic tang of the refrigerator's dying motor.
Lyn's tongue lapped at Mel's entrance with a rhythm that matched Ron's earlier thrusts—hesitant at first, then growing bolder as Ron's fingers tightened in her hair. Mel could feel the wet heat of her mother's breath against her oversensitive flesh, the way Lyn's nose nudged her clit with each probing lick. Ron's cum was thick on Lyn's tongue, bitter-salty, and Mel's thighs trembled when Lyn moaned—a low, broken sound—as she swallowed another mouthful.
"Daddy," Mel gasped, arching her back until the banister dug into her spine. "Make her—make her taste all of it." Ron's chuckle was dark as he pressed Lyn's face harder against Mel's cunt, his thumb smearing the slick mess across Lyn's quivering lips. Lyn's breath hitched, her nostrils flaring at the musky scent of her daughter's arousal mixed with her husband's release. Her tongue darted out instinctively, lapping at the sticky strands connecting Mel's folds to her own chin.
Ron dragged Lyn up by her greasy hair, forcing her to meet Mel's glazed eyes. "Bedtime, Lyn," he murmured, his voice rough with spent lust. The fridge light flickered over Lyn's tear-streaked face as she swallowed convulsively, her throat working around the bitter aftertaste. Mel stretched lazily, her thighs still trembling from Ron's rough handling, and watched her mother's sagging breasts quiver with each ragged breath.
The next morning, Mel's old twin bed groaned under Lyn's bulk, the floral sheets straining against the mattress springs. Down the hall, Ron's king-size bed smelled of sex and sweat, the indentation of Mel's slender body still pressed into the mattress beside his. Lyn's fingers twisted in the too-small sheets—the ones Mel had picked out in middle school, dotted with cartoon horses—as she listened to the shower run in the master bathroom. The pipes shuddered through the walls when Ron turned the knob, and Lyn knew without seeing how the water would sluice over Mel's pert breasts, between the cheeks he'd marked with his teeth.
Mel's vanity mirror reflected Lyn's puffy face at an unflattering angle, the morning light catching the greasy streaks where her tears had dried. The scent of Mel's vanilla body wash clung to the damp towel Lyn had used—a pathetic attempt to wash away the taste of them that lingered in the back of her throat. Downstairs, the fridge hummed its familiar song, but the kitchen tiles were still flecked with shards of porcelain no one had bothered to sweep. Lyn's stomach growled, but the thought of food made her nauseous—the memory of Ron's cum dripping down her chin was too fresh, too sour.
Ron's belt buckle jingled through the thin walls as he dressed in what had been their bedroom. Lyn could picture the way his hands would brush Mel's hips as she buttoned his jeans for him—a tender mimicry of marital intimacy that made Lyn's fingers sink into the soft flesh of her own thighs. The bedsprings squeaked under her weight when she shifted, the cartoon horses on the sheets staring up with cheerful oblivion. A wet spot on the pillowcase smelled faintly of Mel's shampoo and something muskier, something Lyn refused to name.
Ron didn't answer. He just stared at the spill of cold spaghetti on the floor, the sauce pooling like blood. Mel's breath hitched when his calloused fingers twitched toward his belt buckle, then away. She'd seen that gesture before, in the dark of her bedroom when she pressed her palm between her legs and imagined his hands instead of hers. The fantasy had been abstract until now—until this moment, with her mother's humiliation thick in the air and her father's shoulders rigid with frustration.
The fridge hummed, loud in the silence. Lyn's breathing was wet, laboured, and Mel suddenly hated the sound of it. Hated the way it reminded her of wet laundry sloshing in the machine. She took another step down, her bare foot meeting a shard of porcelain. The sharpness made her gasp, but the pain was clean—nothing like the suffocating mess in the kitchen. Ron's head snapped up at the sound. His eyes locked onto hers, and something flickered there. Something hotter than anger.
Mel's pulse throbbed in her throat. She'd practiced this moment in the dark, whispering her own name in the voice she imagined he'd use. But now, with Lyn's bulk between them and the sour tang of tomato sauce thickening the air, it was different. Real. Ron's fingers twitched again. This time, they didn't pull away from his belt. The leather rasped as he undid it, slow. Deliberate. The sound coiled low in Mel's belly, tightening like a spring.
Lyn's chair creaked as she turned. "Ron—" Her voice broke off when she saw where he was looking. Mel watched her mother's face crumple, the way her chins trembled before she pressed them into her chest. The fridge shuddered, cycling off. In the sudden quiet, Mel could hear the wet click of her own swallow, the whisper of her cotton panties as she shifted her weight.
Ron didn't move toward her—not yet. He let the belt dangle loose around his hips, the metal tip brushing his thigh. Mel's mouth went dry. She remembered the time she'd borrowed that belt, cinching it around her school skirt just to feel the ghost of his fingers on the leather. Now, his knuckles whitened around the buckle. "Go upstairs," he said, but his voice was rough, uneven. A command that begged to be disobeyed.
The linoleum was cold under Mel's feet as she stepped around the shattered plate. She could smell Lyn—baby powder and sweat—could see the way her mother's fingers dug into her own fleshy thighs, leaving pale crescents in the doughy skin. But it was Ron's gaze that burned her, tracing the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. She arched her back, just slightly, and his breath hitched. The sound was better than anything she'd imagined in the dark.
Lyn made a wet, strangled noise. "Look at me," she pleaded, but Ron's eyes stayed locked on Mel. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, slow, like he was savouring the taste of something forbidden. Mel's pulse thrummed between her legs, a dull ache that made her press her thighs together. The friction was delicious, unbearable. She let out a tiny whimper—soft enough to pretend was accidental—and Ron's nostrils flared.
The kitchen smelled like garlic and shame. Lyn's bulk quivered as she tried to stand, her thighs slapping together with a sound like raw meat hitting a countertop. Mel didn't look away from her father. She reached up, deliberately slow, and tugged the neckline of her nightshirt just enough to expose the pale swell of one breast. Ron's belt clattered to the floor.
Something hot and slick pulsed between Mel's legs when her father took a step forward—not toward Lyn's grasping hands, but toward the staircase where she stood. The broken porcelain crunched under his work boots, each crackle syncopated with the wet hitch of Lyn's breathing. Mel's skin prickled, alive with the awareness of how little fabric separated her body from his gaze. She arched her foot over the next step, letting the hem ride up her thigh.
Ron's fingers grazed the banister—once, twice—then closed around her wrist. His callouses snagged on her pulse point, rough enough to make her shudder. Mel could smell him now: motor oil and the metallic tang of his sweat, layered under something darker, muskier. His thumb pressed into the delicate bones of her wrist, testing, and she whimpered again—louder this time, letting it drip into the silence like syrup.
Behind them, Lyn made a sound like a wounded animal, her bulk shifting with a wet, fleshy noise. The fridge kicked back on with a groan, its vibration thrumming through the floorboards and up Mel's bare legs. Ron exhaled through his nose, hot and uneven, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her temple. She could feel the ridge of his knuckles against her inner thigh now, the weight of his palm hovering just shy of pressing in. The air between them crackled, thick with the scent of her own arousal, salty-sweet under the stale kitchen smells.
"Daddy," Mel murmured, tilting her hips toward his hand—not quite contact, but the promise of it. "Take me here." She flicked her gaze toward Lyn's crumpled form, the way her mother's fingers dug into the softness of her own thighs. "Let Mummy watch." The words dripped from her lips, sticky with intention. Ron's grip tightened, his fingers branding her skin as he hauled her against him, the hard line of his erection pressing through his work pants. Mel gasped, arching into the heat of him, her nipples pebbling against the thin cotton of her nightshirt.
Lyn's sob cracked through the kitchen like another shattered plate. "Please—" she choked out, but Ron was already walking Mel backward, his free hand fumbling for the hem of her nightshirt. The fabric rode up, exposing the pale curve of her stomach, the damp lace of her panties. Mel's breath hitched as the cold banister pressed into her spine, the wood rough against her bare skin. Ron's thumb hooked into the waistband of her panties, tugging just enough to make her whimper. "Look at her," he growled against Mel's throat, his teeth scraping her pulse point. "Look how pretty she is when she's broken."
The refrigerator light flickered, casting Lyn's shadow across the linoleum—a shapeless, quivering mass. Mel arched her back, letting her father's calloused palm slide higher, his fingers dipping beneath the lace. The gasp she made was half-real, half-performance, just loud enough for Lyn to hear. Ron's breath was ragged against her collarbone, his hips grinding into hers with a rhythm that sent sparks up her spine. "Daddy loves you," he murmured, and the words vibrated through her ribs like a struck chord. Mel squeezed her thighs around his wrist, trapping his fingers where she wanted them most.
Lyn's chair groaned as she heaved forward, her swollen knees slapping against the tile. "Please—" she sobbed, but Ron's mouth was already on Mel's nipple, his tongue circling the stiff peak through the damp fabric. Mel's vision blurred at the edges; she could taste copper where she'd bitten her lip. The banister dug into her lower back, a counterpoint to the molten heat pooling between her legs. Ron's teeth scraped her flesh, possessive, and she moaned—high and sweet, the way she'd practiced alone in the shower.
The fridge light buzzed overhead, flickering across Lyn's tear-streaked face as she pawed at her own sagging breasts. Mel watched her mother's fingers sink into the doughy flesh, the pathetic imitation of what Ron was doing to her. It sent a fresh surge of wetness between her thighs. Ron growled against her skin, his free hand yanking her panties aside with a snap of elastic. The cold air kissed her exposed folds before his thick fingers slid in—not gently, the way she touched herself, but with a rough urgency that made her toes curl.
Lyn's breath hitched wetly as Ron's thumb found Mel's clit, circling with the same practiced rhythm he'd once used on her mother. Mel's hips jerked, the banister digging harder into her spine. She arched her throat, letting Ron's teeth mark her—wanting Lyn to see the purple bloom tomorrow. "She's so tight," Ron rasped, his voice guttural. He twisted his fingers inside her, the stretch burning deliciously. Mel's moan broke into a gasp when he crooked them just right, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing over that sweet spot that made her vision whiten.
The kitchen reeked of sex now—salt and musk layered over the sour tomato sauce. Lyn's whimper was almost lost under the wet slap of Ron's fingers driving into Mel. He pulled them out glistening, pressing them to Mel's lips. She sucked them clean, tasting herself—bitter and electric—while Lyn's ragged breathing hitched. "Daddy," Mel purred, dragging her tongue over his knuckles. "Make her see how much better I feel." Ron's growl vibrated through her as he shoved her panties down her thighs, the lace catching on one ankle.
Mel's back arched off the banister when Ron's cockhead nudged her entrance, the blunt pressure stealing her breath. She watched Lyn's face crumple as he sheathed himself inside her in one brutal thrust. The stretch burned—hotter than she'd imagined—her cunt clamping down around him instinctively. Ron's groan was raw, his hips stuttering as he bottomed out. Mel's nails scored his shoulders, her thighs trembling where they bracketed his hips. "Fuck," he gritted out, his breath scalding her neck. "Tighter than your mother ever was."
Lyn's chair screeched as she lurched forward, her bloated belly jiggling under her stained housecoat. "Please—" she sobbed, but Ron was already moving, his thrusts jerky and uneven like he'd been starving for this. Mel's head knocked against the banister with each snap of his hips, the wood biting into her scalp. She could feel Lyn's gaze like a physical weight—sticky and desperate—sliding over where their bodies joined. Ron's thumb found her clit again, rough circles that made her vision blur. "Look at her," he panted against her mouth. "Look how wet you're making her."
Mel's thighs quivered, the muscles fluttering around Ron's cock as he bottomed out with a grunt. The fridge light flickered overhead, casting Lyn's shadow across their tangled bodies—distorted and shuddering like a dying thing. Ron's teeth scraped Mel's collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. "She's crying," he murmured, and the words sent a fresh pulse of wetness between Mel's legs. Lyn's tears dripped onto her own swollen thighs, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her housecoat. Mel arched into Ron's next thrust, her moan high and breathless. "Daddy, harder—let her see how deep you fit."
Ron's grip on her hips tightened, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he drove into her. The banister creaked under their combined weight, the wood groaning like Lyn had when she'd last tried to climb the stairs. Mel's cunt clenched around him, each ridge of his cock dragging against her inner walls in a way that made her toes curl. She could hear Lyn's wet, open-mouthed breathing, could smell the sour tang of her desperation. Ron's chuckle vibrated against Mel's throat—dark, satisfied—as he angled his hips to hit that spot that made her see stars. "She's touching herself," he growled. "Pathetic."
Mel's fingers tangled in Ron's hair, pulling just hard enough to make him hiss. The pain twisted his face into something beautiful—rapturous and feral—before he retaliated by biting down on her nipple through the damp fabric. The sharp pleasure-pain radiated outward, pooling low in her belly like spilled syrup. Lyn's moan was thick, broken, and when Mel cracked her eyes open, she saw her mother's fingers buried between her own doughy thighs, working furiously. The sight sent another pulse of heat through her, her cunt fluttering around Ron's cock. "Daddy," she gasped, arching her back to give him better access. "Make her taste me."
Ron's movements stuttered, his breath hot against her collarbone. His fingers—still slick with her—dug into Lyn's hair, dragging her forward until her face hovered inches from Mel's glistening thighs. Lyn's lips trembled, her breath coming in wet, staccato bursts against Mel's overheated skin. Ron's grip tightened, his fingers twisting in Lyn's greasy curls. "Lick her clean," he growled, thrusting deeper into Mel as if to emphasize the command. Lyn's whimper was muffled against Mel's inner thigh, her tongue darting out tentatively—like someone tasting something forbidden.
The first swipe of her mother's tongue sent an electric jolt up Mel's spine, her cunt clenching reflexively around Ron's cock. Lyn's mouth was warm, hesitant, her movements clumsy with shame, but the sheer wrongness of it made Mel's toes curl against the linoleum. Ron's hips snapped forward, driving himself deeper as Lyn's tongue traced the seam of Mel's labia, her nose bumping against Ron's thrusting pelvis. Mel's breath hitched—sharp and sudden—when Lyn's lips closed around her clit, sucking gently, the way Ron used to before Lyn's body became an impassable continent.
Ron's fingers tightened in Lyn's hair, forcing her face harder against Mel's dripping flesh. "Swallow her," he gritted out, his voice rough with exertion. Mel could feel the vibration of Lyn's whimper against her sensitive skin, the wet heat of her mother's reluctant mouth forming a filthy counterpoint to Ron's relentless thrusts. The dual sensation—her father's cock splitting her open while her mother's tongue lapped at the mess they made—sent Mel's vision whiting out at the edges. Her thighs trembled violently, her fingernails carving crescent moons into Ron's sweat-slick shoulders.
Lyn's breath came in wet, hiccoughing gasps against Mel's inner thigh, her lips smeared with her daughter's arousal. Ron yanked her head back by the roots of her hair, exposing Lyn's tear-streaked face to the flickering fridge light. "Strip," he ordered, his voice guttural. "Let her see what she's replacing." Lyn's hands shook as they fumbled with the tie of her housecoat, the fabric gaping to reveal rolls of pallid flesh dimpled with stretch marks. The scent of stale sweat and baby powder bloomed thick in the air as the robe pooled around Lyn's swollen ankles, her sagging breasts swaying with every ragged breath.
Mel moaned when Ron's cock twitched inside her at the sight—a visceral reaction that sent sparks up her spine. Lyn's nakedness was grotesque, mesmerizing; the way her belly folded over her pubis, the dark thatch of hair glistening with unshed tears. Ron's free hand groped Lyn's pendulous breast, his fingers sinking into the doughy flesh as he thrust harder into Mel. "Look at her," he panted, pinching Lyn's nipple until she whimpered. "Look how pathetic she is." Mel's cunt clenched around him in response, her hips jerking to meet his strokes as she stared at her mother's trembling bulk.
The fridge light buzzed louder, casting jagged shadows across Lyn's stretch-marked thighs. Ron released Mel's hip long enough to slap Lyn's belly—the sound wet, meaty—making the fat ripple obscenely. Lyn's sob caught in her throat as Ron's palm left a red imprint on her sagging flesh. Mel arched her back, the banister biting into her shoulder blades, her own body taut where Lyn's was soft. Ron's teeth scraped her collarbone as he fucked her, his sweat dripping onto her chest. "Daddy loves your tight little cunt," he growled, and the words vibrated through Mel's ribs like a struck chord.
Mel's thighs trembled around Ron's hips, her toes curling against the linoleum. Lyn's fingers dug into her own flabby stomach, her nails leaving pale trails in the doughy flesh. Ron's thrusts grew erratic, his breath hot and ragged against Mel's throat. She could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the way his fingers dug into her hips like he wanted to leave bruises. "Daddy, please," Mel gasped, her voice high and desperate. "Fill me up—I want to feel you dripping out of me." Her cunt clenched around him, milking his cock, urging him deeper.
Ron's groan was raw, his hips stuttering as he bottomed out inside her. Mel could feel the moment he came—the hot pulse of his cum flooding her, the way his cock twitched against her inner walls. Lyn's breath hitched, her eyes locked on where their bodies joined. Ron pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with their combined fluids. He grabbed Lyn by the hair, forcing her face toward Mel's dripping cunt. "Clean her," he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. Lyn's tongue darted out, tentative at first, then eager, lapping at the mess her daughter and husband had made.
Mel gasped as Lyn's tongue probed deeper, swirling around her swollen folds, sucking Ron's cum from her entrance. The sensation was electric—her mother's warm mouth, the shameful desperation in her movements, the way her tongue trembled against Mel's sensitive flesh. Ron's fingers tightened in Lyn's hair, guiding her, forcing her to take every last drop. Lyn moaned—low and broken—as she swallowed, her lips smeared with their mingled fluids. Mel's thighs quivered, her body still humming from the aftershocks of her own climax.
Ron watched them with heavy-lidded eyes, his cock twitching against Lyn's bloated stomach as she knelt between Mel's spread legs. The fridge light buzzed overhead, casting their tangled shadows against the kitchen wall—a grotesque tableau of lust and submission. Lyn's breath hitched wetly when Ron pushed her head back toward Mel's cunt, his thumb tracing the sticky mess between her lips. "Again," he murmured, and Mel shuddered at the dark promise in his voice. Lyn obeyed, her tongue lapping at Mel's folds with a fervour that bordered on worship.
Mel's thighs trembled with overstimulation, her clit throbbing under her mother's rough tongue. She could taste herself on Lyn's lips when Ron crushed their mouths together—a bitter, electric tang that made her whimper. Lyn's hands fluttered uselessly against Ron's hips, her fingers sinking into his flesh like dough as he guided her face back down. The wet, obscene sounds of her mother swallowing his cum filled the kitchen, punctuated by Ron's low groans. Mel arched her back when Lyn's tongue probed deeper, swirling inside her with a desperation that bordered on hunger.
Ron's thumb pressed against Mel's swollen clit, grinding in rough circles as Lyn lapped at her stretched entrance. The dual sensation—her father's calloused fingers and her mother's trembling mouth—sent sparks skittering up Mel's spine. Lyn's nose bumped against Ron's knuckles with each thrust of her tongue, her breath hot and ragged against Mel's oversensitive flesh. The fridge hummed, its vibration thrumming through the floorboards and into Mel's bones, amplifying the tremors wracking her body.
"Daddy," Mel gasped, arching her back until the banister dug into her shoulder blades. "Make her—" The words dissolved into a moan as Lyn's lips sealed around her entrance, sucking hard enough to pull another gush of Ron's cum from her twitching cunt. The sound was obscenely wet, Lyn's throat working as she swallowed with a desperation that made Mel's thighs quiver. Ron's chuckle was dark, satisfied, his fingers tightening in Lyn's greasy hair as he guided her deeper.
Lyn's nose pressed into the coarse thatch of Mel's pubic hair, her breath hot and uneven against oversensitive flesh. Mel could feel the flutter of her mother's eyelashes against her inner thigh, the way Lyn's tongue trembled as it probed deeper—like she was afraid to miss a single drop. Ron's thumb smeared the mess across Mel's swollen clit, the rough pad of his callus catching just right. "Good girl," he murmured, and Lyn's answering whimper vibrated against Mel's slit.
Mel's thighs twitched violently when Lyn's tongue found the thickest pooling of cum inside her—warm and bitter-salty against her mother's tentative taste buds. Ron's fingers tightened in Lyn's hair, forcing her chin up to watch the viscous strands stretch between tongue and cunt. The fridge light buzzed overhead, catching the slick shine on Lyn's quivering lower lip. Mel arched her back, pressing her mother's face harder between her legs. "Deeper," she gasped, grinding against Lyn's nose.
Ron exhaled through his nose—a rough, satisfied sound—as he traced Lyn's spit-slick chin with his thumb. The contrast was obscene: Lyn's doughy jowls trembling under his touch while Mel's lean muscles flexed around her. Mel watched her mother's throat work as she swallowed, the sagging skin of her neck wobbling with each reluctant gulp. The air smelled like sex and shame and the metallic tang of the refrigerator's dying motor.
Lyn's tongue lapped at Mel's entrance with a rhythm that matched Ron's earlier thrusts—hesitant at first, then growing bolder as Ron's fingers tightened in her hair. Mel could feel the wet heat of her mother's breath against her oversensitive flesh, the way Lyn's nose nudged her clit with each probing lick. Ron's cum was thick on Lyn's tongue, bitter-salty, and Mel's thighs trembled when Lyn moaned—a low, broken sound—as she swallowed another mouthful.
"Daddy," Mel gasped, arching her back until the banister dug into her spine. "Make her—make her taste all of it." Ron's chuckle was dark as he pressed Lyn's face harder against Mel's cunt, his thumb smearing the slick mess across Lyn's quivering lips. Lyn's breath hitched, her nostrils flaring at the musky scent of her daughter's arousal mixed with her husband's release. Her tongue darted out instinctively, lapping at the sticky strands connecting Mel's folds to her own chin.
Ron dragged Lyn up by her greasy hair, forcing her to meet Mel's glazed eyes. "Bedtime, Lyn," he murmured, his voice rough with spent lust. The fridge light flickered over Lyn's tear-streaked face as she swallowed convulsively, her throat working around the bitter aftertaste. Mel stretched lazily, her thighs still trembling from Ron's rough handling, and watched her mother's sagging breasts quiver with each ragged breath.
The next morning, Mel's old twin bed groaned under Lyn's bulk, the floral sheets straining against the mattress springs. Down the hall, Ron's king-size bed smelled of sex and sweat, the indentation of Mel's slender body still pressed into the mattress beside his. Lyn's fingers twisted in the too-small sheets—the ones Mel had picked out in middle school, dotted with cartoon horses—as she listened to the shower run in the master bathroom. The pipes shuddered through the walls when Ron turned the knob, and Lyn knew without seeing how the water would sluice over Mel's pert breasts, between the cheeks he'd marked with his teeth.
Mel's vanity mirror reflected Lyn's puffy face at an unflattering angle, the morning light catching the greasy streaks where her tears had dried. The scent of Mel's vanilla body wash clung to the damp towel Lyn had used—a pathetic attempt to wash away the taste of them that lingered in the back of her throat. Downstairs, the fridge hummed its familiar song, but the kitchen tiles were still flecked with shards of porcelain no one had bothered to sweep. Lyn's stomach growled, but the thought of food made her nauseous—the memory of Ron's cum dripping down her chin was too fresh, too sour.
Ron's belt buckle jingled through the thin walls as he dressed in what had been their bedroom. Lyn could picture the way his hands would brush Mel's hips as she buttoned his jeans for him—a tender mimicry of marital intimacy that made Lyn's fingers sink into the soft flesh of her own thighs. The bedsprings squeaked under her weight when she shifted, the cartoon horses on the sheets staring up with cheerful oblivion. A wet spot on the pillowcase smelled faintly of Mel's shampoo and something muskier, something Lyn refused to name.
1ヶ月前
