>[x] Follow her.
This is such a tremendously terrible idea on so many different levels and from so many different angles that its terribleness legitimately makes you dizzy -- gives you a heady rush of nausea and cold sweat. So, of course, you follow. The last thing you see when you glance back, before you slip past the rickety plywood door of the fitting room, is Amber's head poking out from among all the garments, watching with a sly smile.
Charlotte is sitting on the tiny bench against the wall, knees pressed together, hands folded neatly atop, waiting for you. You stare at her; as you take her in, behind your back, you latch the the door.
Your mouth is dry.
"Are you feeling all right, dear? Are you feverish, perhaps? Here, let me check..."
"Uh..."
"Come on, now."
You step forward, like a chided schoolboy, and bend a bit, so she can put her palm against your forehead. "Oh my," she says. "Oh my, oh my... you're burning up."
"Is this... is this okay?" You say.
"Is what okay? A mother checking her son for fever?"
"That isn't what I mean."
She laughs that carefree laugh of hers, the one you've gotten so used to over the years. "Oh, Alabaster. Why wouldn't this be okay?"
"Your husband--"
She shakes her head. "Saul and I have an understanding... I am not the only one of us to wander. You remind me so much of him, in that way."
You really didn't need to hear that your adoptive parents are, apparently, swingers. But then, you're one to talk. You're about to do it with one of them.
"So yes, this is okay," she says. "Granting that you're okay with it too. And you are -- right?"
You nod stupidly, unable to form words.
"We need to be quick," she says. "We wouldn't want your other mother getting suspicious, would we?"
"Other mother..."
"Does that make you uncomfortable?" She touches your knee. "Would you rather just think of me as Mrs. Mallory? I don't want to disturb you, of course..."
"It's fine," you say. "I really did mean what I told you earlier. You know. The way I think of you."
She puts a hand to her cheek. "I'm glad. But even if you think of me like your mother... you still get all hot and bothered when you see me dressed like this, don't you?"
No use denying it. "Y-yeah."
She nods and smiles. "Good. Very good. Then let's get started, shall we? Come have a quickie with mama Mallory..."
She doesn't wait for your reply. She reaches up and tugs you forward by your belt, draws you to her so you're standing right over her head. She undoes your belt buckle now, and its jangling sounds like nuclear bombs going off. You're acutely aware of being just a few feet and some hollow drywall away from Mom, and you definitely don't want her to overhear this.
Next comes your zipper, and Charlotte's practiced hands have already gotten your pants down to your knees before you even realize it.
"Step out of them, please... you'll be more comfortable."
This is a really compromising position. To get out of your jeans, you also have to get out of your shoes, and being mostly naked in here with Mrs. Mallory while your Mom waits outside... plus Amber... is just adding to the complications.
Yet you do exactly as she says. That's the thing about the elder Mallory. She commands the kind of authority over you that Rose only wishes she could. You find it impossible to tell her no. You kick your shoes off, one then the other, and step awkwardly from your jeans. Your boxers are tented obscenely, and Charlotte's eyes widen with unconcealed hunger.
"Oh my... you are..." She looks you in the eye. "May I? Oh, of course I can, what am I saying..."
She tugs your waistband down, and your cock springs up, nearly slapping her in the face. It actually nicks the rim of her glasses and jostles them. She grins like the cat who got the canary. Her eyes remain locked on it as you step out of your underwear now, too.
Her soft, warm hand wraps around it with a frustratingly -- calculatedly -- loose grip. She tugs you languidly back and forth. "Have you really been hiding this thing from Rose, baby? She's going to be so upset if you have been..."
"Are you fine with us -- like that?" You stutter. "Me and Rose."
"I'm fine with us like this. So why wouldn't I be fine with you and Rose enjoying one another? She loves you, you know. She would never say it, but she does... and she would definitely love THIS thing, too..." She squeezes your prick for effect. "At least, if she's anything like me. But maybe I don't need to speculate..."
You nod. "You-- you got me. Rose and I..."
"It's more obvious than either of you think. I hope she doesn't mind sharing. Have you ever fucked her tits?"
You can't help letting out a choked gasp of shock at hearing Charlotte speak so frankly -- and so lewdly. She's still jerking you off, increasingly faster. And now she adds a second hand. Even stacked one atop the other, she hardly covers half the length of your cock shaft. Her hands tighten as she jerks. They're becoming a blur, lubed up by your own precum, as she works you over. You just stand there as she masturbates you, your bouncing prick only inches from her beautiful face.
"I'm sorry if I'm shocking you with my language," she says. Her voice is rough and husky. "I get a little coarse, seeing a cock as nice as yours, I suppose..."
"Keep going," you mumble. "Ung--"
"Is that good for you, baby? A big, fat cock like this... it needs a little relief, doesn't it? It's fine. You can't help it. It must hurt so bad being all hard like this..."
"Yeah... it does..."
Her voice lilts and catches. "Let your mother relieve you, then... that's it, darling... just leave it allll to me. I'll make my boy's cock feel good..." The slick sounds of her handjob are bouncing off the low ceiling, but you don't care.
"I'm gonna--"
She lets go. Both hands at the same time. "Ah, ah--" she chides, holding her palms up. "I asked you a question, didn't I?"
You blink rapidly, vision going fuzzy, balls aching for relief. "W-what?"
"Have you ever fucked Rose's tits?"
"I don't -- I don't know. We've done a lot... but... but no, I don't think I have."
She tsks. "What a silly girl. She isn't using her best assets... she needs to learn better how to treat a nice big prick like yours... sit down, dear."
You can't but obey. She stands up, and you sit down. Turning, getting on her knees before you, Mrs. Mallory, the woman you really do think of as a second mother, gets your straining, leaking dick between the heart shaped window of her sweater. Instantly you feel the hot, damp, unbelievably soft confines of the space between her bare tits. It's a new feeling, one totally beyond description. Maybe better than fucking a cunt. And that delicious, perverted pleasure rippling down your prick only intensifies when Charlotte clamps her hands against the side of either breast, and forces them together. The heat and pressure enveloping your cockmeat is insane, wonderful... just the best.
"Fuck them, Alabaster... fuck mommy's tits."
There's something like rationality still in your mind: "The sweater, though..."
"Never mind that. I'll buy it. You can cum on it. You can cum on me, too... I know your poor, hard dick needs a pretty girl to cum on... doesn't it?"
You buck your hips, involuntarily. She thrills to this. "That's it... like that. Don't think, just fuck... get your cock off... get off for me, baby."
You begin to fuck her heavy cowtits in earnest now, hardly believing the way they ripple and undulate against you. Your bare ass is slapping against the benchtop and your dick is making sick squelching noises between her chest. She stares cross-eyed at your pistoning prick, directly at the piss slit every time it pokes up past her cleavage on the upstroke.
"I wish we had more time, and some space to stretch out..." she coos. "A dick like this deserves a pussy to cum in, doesn't it?"
"Unnn--" you moan.
"Do you like that? Do you want to use mommy's pussy, too?"
You glance down. One of her hands is traveling southward, towards her skirt, and then up underneath it. "Hold my other breast for me, dear... I need to play with myself... I hope you understand."
You do as instructed, to keep the even pressure on your dick. The sounds of Mrs. Mallory playing with her own cunt join the sounds of your cock sluicing back and forth in between her sweaty tit-meat. You idly grope her left breast as you hold it. It has such a nice, pillowy softness, even separated from your hand by the sweater's rough material.
A noise from outside grabs your attention. Another dressing room door opening, then closing. You go still and quiet.
"Alabaster?" Comes Mom's voice. "Where did you go?"
Charlotte smiles devilishly up at you. Then she starts slowly sliding up and down on your behalf, keeping the paizuri going even if you don't want to.
"Mrs. Mallory..." you whisper.
"Call me mom."
"She's--"
"Shhhh," she says. "Cum quickly, baby... okay?"
There's a loud knock on the door. You freeze in fear. Charlotte winks at you.
"Charlotte?" Mom says. "Are you in there?"
"Yes!" She calls, still fucking you with her breasts. You shudder in agonized lust.
"Did Alabaster leave?"
"Not sure. Is he missing?"
"Yes, he is... I hope he didn't run off on us..."
"Well, hold on. We'll be right out!"
There's a poignant pause on the other side. Charlotte quickly, and almost but not completely quietly, continues to bounce her chest up and down in your lap.
"We'll?" Mom questions.
"That's the royal we, Scarlett," Charlotte says. "We'll be coming soon. Okay?"
Her hand is still working at a frenzied pace inside her pussy. She's getting herself off while practically rubbing it in Mom's face.
You hear Mom's footsteps recede, and not a moment too soon, because you're going over the edge whether she's at the door or not. Your hips take a life of their own, again, and you ram repeatedly in and out of the tight, pussy-like crevice of Charlotte's enormous breasts. She eggs you on: "There we go... there we go... don't hold back, just let your dick cum for me... cum for me... cum for me, baby..."
You actually rise to your feet, bow-legged. You thrust madly up and down like a monkey. This is too good, this is WAY too good. Charlotte was 100% right, it's absurd that you never did this with Rose, and you know you'll be coming back for more -- from both women. You hump and hump her tits, and your depraved mind embraces the incest that Charlotte already did: "I'm cumming... I'm cumming, mom--!"
"Oooo--" She sighs when your horny cock begins to throb and spurt. She masturbates as she wrings your load out of you. The thick sperm sloshes up and pools around in her cleavage, and some errant squirts splash up even further, to her chin, and even across the right lens of her glasses. The fabric of the sweater becomes stained and smeared with fat white pearls of semen, too. You cum all over her. And she's perfectly happy to be your cum rag, to bring some much-needed relief to your dick. As far as she's concerned, it seems, it's her motherly duty.
When you're totally empty, Charlotte takes off the sweater completely, letting her giant tits flop out. They're even bigger than they seem, but somehow still perky, against all established laws of gravity. She uses the sweater as a cum tissue, wiping herself clean. Then wrapping it around your dick, too, she squeezes out those stubborn few dollops of cum from your urethra.
You think that's all, but she removes her glasses, and puts the sweater to her face, and inhales deeply.
"Your cum smells absolutely wonderful, Alabaster... it's heavenly... oh, I'm getting dizzy..."
You realize, then, that she hasn't cum yet. But she's about to. Huffing your sperm like an addict huffing paint, she finds her cunt again with her hands and masturbates openly. You watch with interest, and now she begins to suck on the soiled garment, to lick your jizz from the fabric of the sweater, even as she inhales its scent.
"I'm sorry..." she mutters, lost in debauchery, "I'm so terribly sorry you have a disgusting whore like me for a mother... I'm gonna need you to give me lots of cum from now on, okay? Lots of cum... lots and lots..."
And with that, she orgasms. It's wet and sloppy and it leaves a puddle on the tile floor. That doesn't matter to her in the slightest, you gather.