The three freaks in the field are still going at it as I pass. The male is on his back now while one of the girls rides his hips and the other his face.
Shame and longing fill me in equal measure at the sight of them. Scenes like this are only found in porn.
My dick resumes its attention and, like a compass facing north, it points the way back to Mother. She awaits with something to fulfill me. She won’t leave me wanting. I’ve been her good boy. Good boys are rewarded.
* * *
My breath comes in ragged, aching pants by the time I close the front door behind me. I set the sheep down, ready to give my tired arms a break.
The frantic animal had kicked and bucked against me most of the way back. Not that I blame it. I carry it to its death.
Remembering the rules, I shed my sweaty clothes while the animal inspects the foyer. Now that I’m not holding it, the beast acts like everything is fine and normal.
Until it bleats.
The noise is loud and echoes in the enclosed space, hurting my ears.
“You won’t be making a clamor for long,” I warn it.
Once I’m back in my birthday suit, I herd the sheep down the hallway toward the bedroom. When it’s trapped between me and the closed door, I kneel down and creep along the floor toward it. The animal scampers about, making a horrible ruckus between the bleating and the hooves scraping the floor. Its wide eyes show white, realizing it’s trapped again.
I crawl closer, and the beast attempts to make a break for it by leaping between me and the wall. I tackle it and keep a hold of a back leg while it kicks and screams. We’re both tired, though, and it relents.
I tuck it to my bare belly with one hand and crawl forward on my knees with the other. I open the door and scoot the two of us through.
“Mother?” I call out, finding the room empty.
“In here, John,” she responds from the bathroom.
My cock, flaccid from naked wrestling the sheep, springs to life, remembering Mother in the bathtub with me just three mornings ago. The whirlwind of this weekend feels like an eternity and a flash all at the same time. So many dreams have been realized. So many forbidden secret pleasures fulfilled.
In anticipation of whatever is coming next, my heart pounds against my ribcage.
I awkwardly continue my three-legged shuffle with the sheep through the bedroom and into the bathroom.
Her head, visible above the side of the tub, swivels toward me as I scoot into the room. Her deep brown eyes beneath her full, dark brunette, almost black hair twinkle in delight when she sees the animal in the crook of my arm.
“Oh.” Her hand presses to the base of her throat. “My sweet little boy returned with what Mother asked of him. You are such a dear.”
The throbbing in my groin builds to a painful pressure. I pray relief will be soon in coming. Mother’s rewards are my life now. There’s very little I would hold back from her.
Quick as a flash, here one second and gone just as quickly, my mind forgets what’s before me and searches for my most precious worldly possessions. They remain like shadows, just out of reach of my thoughts.
No matter. If I can’t remember them, they must not be important.
“Who’s my good little boy?” Her voice rises in pitch and exaggeration, setting me at ease again.
“I am, Mother.”
“That’s right. Now, Mother needs John to be a big boy for a minute. Can you do that for her?”
“Of course, Mother.” I nod my head, excitedly, eager to please.
“Good.” Her hand rises and grabs a knife off the edge of the tub.
I can’t remember if I noticed it when I came in. But how else would it have gotten there?
“Stand up and hold the animal by its hind legs over me in the bath. When I tell you, John, slit its throat.”
Clutching the sheep in both arms, I get to my feet. From here, Mother’s body enters my field of view.
She’s naked in an otherwise empty tub.
My eyes run from her perky, full breasts down over her smooth stomach to the small patch of trimmed hair above her slit.
She returns my gaze, licks her lips, and slowly strokes one hand down her smooth flesh.
“You like watching, don’t you, John?”
If my wide eyes don’t give me away, my erection certainly does. Coherent words fail me. I mumble something and bob my head up and down in agreement.
She dips her finger inside herself before teasing her clit. Her back arches. Delightful moans escape her lips.
“When I tell you, John,” she whispers through her pleasure pants, “slice the beast’s throat.”
My arm aches, as I hold the kicking, bleating thing above her. But I persevere through the pain, knowing if I stop, so will she. I want to see it. The sight of a woman masturbating has been too limited in my life, and now I can’t get enough.
Her wails of ecstasy grow louder, more urgent, as she nears climax.
