Show Your Tits, Show Your Tits Ch. 02

Bruce said nothing.

"You listen, don't you, you listen to all the wonderful noises Mommy makes."

"Yes Mommy."

"You never made Mommy make sounds like that, did you?"

Pre-cum was leaking from his cock.

"No Mommy."

"And after he comes, after he fills me with his man-cum, he gets hard again and fucks me some more, he wears me out, I have to beg him to stop. He's such a stud."

Bruce's breaths increased in pace and power. I glanced around the restaurant. Tucked away in our corner we were safe.

"You did a good thing and Mommy is so very proud of you. You helped Mommy make a perfect lover, a fuck-god just for Mommy. He comes in my cunt, my mouth, my asshole; he shoots his cream all over my face, my hair, my tits. He took me from you and now he owns me. I'm his fuck-toy."

My husband, his belly jiggling on my arm, rocked his hips in time with my hand.

"And for being such a good little boy and helping Mommy make such a wonderful lover, well if you're a good boy Mommy will reward you and play with you pee-pee."

"Thank you Mommy," he squeaked out.

My husband grabbed the edge of the table and started shaking, whimpering in that low voice he always did right before he...

"You're going to get a lot of stiffies because Jacob's gonna fuck me all the time. At night you'll hear Jacob fucking me. When you eat breakfast in the morning, you'll know he's fucked me on the table. When you drive your car to work, you'll know I sucked his dick while he sat behind the very same steering wheel."

I dragged a finger across Bruce's testicles; they pulled into his body.

"And if you're a good little boy Mommy will play with your wiener."

"I'll be good Mommy, I promise."

I squeezed his balls. He covered his mouth with a heavy cloth napkin, muffling his sharp grunt. We drew only cursory glances.

I took my hand out from under the table, let him lick his sperm from my fingers. When done he looked at me, tears in the corner of his eyes. "Don't make me leave Mommy. I don't want to be alone. I'll be good, I promise."

* * * *

To the world I remained his wife. I attended social events with him and when the gang gathered at our place, which was more frequently than ever, I played hostess. The group became more accepting of me and, I am told, I became a better companion to my husband, more optimistic, more positive, more engaging. But why not, I was happier than I'd ever been in my life and any resentments I'd carried towards Bruce were replaced by my gratitude at his happy acceptance of his new role in my life.

When company leaves my son becomes my husband. We hold each other, share the master bedroom, make love freely, knowing Bruce can hear us. Sometimes, when Jacob watches a game with his father, I come downstairs, dressed in a teddy, or heels, stockings, and garter, and tell Jacob it's time. He says good night to his father, follows me upstairs, fucks me. Afterwards, and on those nights in particular (for they most turn my husband on), I go to Bruce's bedroom and, my cunt full of our son's seed, my body covered in sweat, find Bruce waiting. I bring him off with my hand or, if he's been an especially good boy, my mouth - it takes but a minute and Bruce is always so grateful - then return to my son's bed.

At my request - although I never correct Bruce when he tells someone the Department transferred me - the Department of Transportation moved me to its Columbia office, where my son attended the University of Missouri. Most weekends I make the two hour drive home, often with Jacob, to continue the charade of my marriage. But it is my son who is my husband; I belong to him.