Pancakes And Syrup 02 Bacon And Eggs

Bacon & Eggs

John's depression had set in. It had been months since he caught his wife Sandra being shamelessly fucked by their college hunk of a son Matthew. John could scarcely believe his supposed 'better half' had such loose morals to let that happen. Yet when it did, Sandra's moans of pleasure only gave off the impression that not only did she enjoy the immoral connections shared with her son, it was clearly something her heart and eyes were set on for some time. And now the rewards of that connection were reaped.

"Hurry up with the bacon, will you? You know I'm eating for four here." Sandra rested her hand on her voluptuous pregnant belly, sat at the kitchen table. Ever since getting knocked up by Matthew, she'd developed a hankering for bacon and eggs, enough to feed a family of four. Now that their own family was on the verge of doubling in size thanks to Matthew's 'generosity,' as Sandra put it, there would no doubt be a lot of bacon and eggs for the next while. Sandra thumbed her belly, feeling one of Matthew's eventual children kick hard. "Ooh. They're hungrier than usual this morning."

John could barely keep up with his wife's demand. Some bacon was sizzling on the pan and eggs were cracked, but inwardly he knew no matter how much he put on the plate Sandra would complain about there not being enough to satisfy her cravings. At one point, John had used a whole fresh pack of bacon and eggs, yet Sandra demanded more. So much in their relationship had changed. John was now more a slave to his wife's needs than a doting husband, while she brazenly messed around with their son in open view. "Just a minute," he said.

Outside of the obvious protruding belly, so much of Sandra had changed as well. The pregnancy allowed her skin to positively glow, more so than her earlier one with Matthew, and her breasts more than doubled in size, filled to the brim with milk. They ached as she sat with impatience waiting on the plate of bacon and eggs. John was getting slower by the day, it seemed. It annoyed Sandra to no end. She should've just gotten Matthew to do it all instead. It wasn't like John was any better at anything else.

But John managed to follow through with his demand, placing the plate on the mat and handing Sandra a knife and fork. She didn't immediately dig in, instead choosing to inspect the food meticulously for even the slightest error. Not only did Sandra's diet mostly consist of merely bacon and eggs, but they had to be perfect. The yolk had to be runny and the whites the purest of white, any of which that was left would be put in a blender for a protein shake that Matthew would throw down. It was odd though, how the mother's strict diet of bacon and eggs didn't make her any fatter than what was expected from the pregnancy. All the fats from the bacon and eggs didn't seem to go anywhere.

Sandra cut into the bacon and tasted it. Crispy, slightly burned. Just the way she liked it. It was perfect. Just the way it had to be. Every time. "Good job."

At that moment Matthew came in from upstairs. He didn't wear much save for a pair of speedos that was obviously too small for his grossly oversized cock and balls. John couldn't keep his eyes off them, driven by a sense of jealousy. Second only to his bodybuilder-shaming musculature, Matthew's massive appendage was now one of his defining traits. The fabric of his speedos shifted as he moved through the kitchen, his balls squirming, without so much as a passing comment to his father.

"There's some milk near the fridge for you, dear." Sandra clicked her fingers, pointing to the pint-sized glass bottle filled to the brim with milk. Seeing it made Matthew smile. Sandra made him what was promised, though it took some time. "Hope you enjoy it."

John watched Matthew take the pint bottle and uncork it. To the unsuspecting eye, it was just a simple bottle of milk. But to those who know, like John, it was more than that. It was Matthew's mother's breast milk, something he'd been drinking for the last few weeks. Sandra put something extra in for a little kick. Knowing this, John was always creeped out watching Matthew guzzle the milk like his life depended on it, trickling down his chin to permeate his pectorals.

And that's when it happened. Right on cue, too. John had never gotten any used to seeing it happen any more more than he knew his wife and son were a coupling. Mathew's pectorals rippled as they creaked with growth, the thick slabs of meat visibly swelling outwards. His chin jabbed into the crevice formed between each powerful, striated muscle. It was just the onset of his growth, yet that didn't stop him from drooling at the numbing sensation of his expansion.

John watched. The reason why he hated the goings-on was because seeing his godlike musclehead of a son's growth turned John on. It got him harder than he'd ever been in his life. Seeing his perfect, stud of a son grow before his eyes and make his cock twitch was why John hated it. Yet he loved it all the same. It was a love-hate relationship John never dreamed of having.

The father whimpered as he felt his own precum stain his jeans in his continued observations, staring rather jealously at Matthew's comparatively log-like cock, for it, too, shared in the growth induced by his mother's milk. Without the need to properly do so, it was already obvious how much larger, thicker and all-round superior Matthew's rod was compared to his father's. In its current, oh-so sensitive state brought on by the growth, even the slightest touch would be enough to make him blow his load. Not that it mattered, really. He would just get hard again almost instantly afterwards, ready to fire his second shot. That was how virile and superior Matthew was.

He winced, feeling his cock swell further, chaffing against the fabric of his speedos in an effort to find space, no matter how little. They just needed space to breathe, to grow. God -- the sensation in feeling his cock grow was as much painful as it was a turn-on. No man would ever compare to him, especially his father. Fighting the growing pains, Matthew turned to face the man. The stud smirked, seeing the pathetic stain at his father's crotch. He couldn't even hold in his cum long enough to marvel at his godlike son's massive rod.

John knew what came next. It was as routine as making the bacon and eggs. A part of him hated himself for liking it, too. But his perversion in liking what was to come far outweighed that hate.

Matthew's speedos shifted in the wake of a light spasm from his cock before the sensitivity settled. He could still feel his swarms of swimmers eagerly thrash within the fleshy sacks of his balls.

"Go on, touch them. You know you want to." Matthew's smirk was one John didn't anticipate. It was sly, almost devilish in manner. Matthew's hand was cast down to his mammoth scrotum to squeeze the cannonball girth, the tension from the squeeze compelling the balls to swell even more. Their weighty greatness had started to tear through the speedos, visibly bulging with a sense of eagerness.

John looked, predictably mesmerized by the abnormally-sized cock his son possessed, crippled by jealousy and driven by a sensation of lust he hadn't felt before. Ever since he started growing, John had massaged Matthew's balls many a time, but he felt differently about it this time. He wanted to do more. He wanted to--

John pulled the speedos down over Matthew's ankles and watched as the young man's cock visibly unravelled to its full erection, finally able to breathe. The father wanted to act on his perverted impulses right there and then, but chose to wait a moment, his eyes bulging at Matthew's cock visibly elongating to a greater length than before, somehow growling in its growth.

"His cock isn't going to suck itself, you know." Sandra looked with eagerness, her legs spread as if readied for something. John knew exactly what, of course. It was routine as everything else at this point. John was just the slave, the third wheel. "I'd do it, but can barely move these days."

Matthew stroked his shaft in wait, eagerly waiting for his father to do the deed he knew he would enjoy. After all, his comparatively pathetic little needle dick was getting hard just looking at him! Matthew was everything John dreamed of being, a living, breathing fantasy come to life.

John succumbed, taking his son's cock in his mouth. The first sound was always a choking gag because the father's throat could barely take the younger man's sheer thickness. But he enjoyed it, his eyes rolling back at just the mere feel of Matthew's cock massaging his throat. John was Matthew's bitch. The father's hands were moved to massage the son's balls, though of course, his palms could barely encompass their largeness.

After hearing his father's man-slut sucking, Mathew proceeded to boast further by flexing. His puffed chest jut out with his lat spread, looking down at the man all-too dedicated in his serving to notice the son's musculature had expanded further. Veins rose to the surface of his skin, thick and bloated, twitching in celebration of their birth.

"Just so you know, Dad. After you've swallowed my first load, I'm going to use the second to fill Mum up." Matthew chuckled, hearing his father's moans between each fervent suck, eyes rolling back again as he felt a slight trickle of precum touch his tongue. "Yeah, you like that, right? Sucking off your superior, muscle-stud of a son knowing he's going to rail his mother for the third time today."

John blew his weak load at his son's words. He was inferior compared to Matthew, so it was no surprise he would lose control over his own body at his son simply talking about what he would do. He never had the luxury of watching the couple do it, save for when he initially found it. And that drove him mad. Matthew was the only one who could make Sandra moan as she did. John was even incapable of dreaming himself performing that well.

Matthew grunted, heaving forward as he willed his load to shoot in its totality, down the waiting John's throat. The father took every drop, of course. Though he struggled for a bit, gagging as his cheeks filled out with the near-torrential offering. The son reaffirmed his footing, his calves bulging to grow. When he pulled his cock free from John's mouth, the father slumped, toothpaste white cum smudging his mouth.

Matthew turned to face Sandra, noticing the damp patch on her underwear. She seemed to enjoy the show of dominance her son effortlessly put on. But it wasn't going to end with John slumped at the washing machine. No. Matthew wasn't quite done yet. He implied as much, wincing his cock stretched to renew itself into a fresh erection, even bigger than before.

Sandra giggled like a schoolgirl when Matthew scooped her up into his arms. He carried her off through the hallway and up the stairs. They could both hear John's soft moans, himself looking down at the cum stain in his jeans.