“All right, John.” Mother hands me a glass. “Be a gentleman and use a little lube.”

I stare at the milky liquid in the cup and at Lovely’s bare ass at the edge of the bed and understand. A little sadness pierces me at the perceived waste of Mother’s ambrosia as I pour an ounce or so over my erection and slather it around. But Mother will provide more. Especially after I obey.

A little of Lovely’s spunk returns as I line up my shaft with her asshole. I remember with fondness how tight Mother’s was and wonder how this will compare.

The girl moans again. “No. Please. Let me go ho–”

I plunge inside. The compression grips me like nothing I’ve felt before, and I nearly explode.

Lovely squeals.

Or was it a scream?

I can’t concern myself with it now. This is the ultimate. Dessert with a cherry on top.

I grab Lovely’s hair and tug on it harshly, jerking her head back.

Mother holds something for my other hand to take.

An alarm sounds in the back of my awareness. If I take it…and use it…I’ll be doing something from which there is no return.

My hand tightens around the cold, hard object.

“Listen to me, John.”

The command in Mother’s voice draws my eyes to hers. I still my hips in order to listen. The only sound for a moment is Lovely’s crying.

“Use it when you orgasm, John.”

I nod, not fully understanding, only knowing that I want to please Mother. Somehow I will manage to do as she asks.

Mother smiles. “Good boy. Now fuck that ass like it’s your last night on earth.”

I need no further encouragement. Pleasure grunts escape my throat as I pound into Lovely. The pressure is exquisite. My finish builds, promising to be more explosive than any other. This completion is more important than the night I lost my virginity. I want to delay it and hasten it at the same time.

Whether I’m ready or not, it approaches. I get in a final few deep thrusts before I lean forward and place the stick I hold to Lovely’s beautiful throat.

When my climax hits, the world fades away except for the surges in my cock. Only the three of us exist. This room is the world.

Mother opens her mouth as a red, hot liquid sprays from Lovely’s split, gaping neck. I watch it with fascination.

Time slows.

Again and again, Mother swallows as much as she can.

My twitching ends, and I collapse on the bed to sleep.

7

Tuesday

The room is dark when Mother rouses me.

“John. Quickly. Mother needs you, John.”

I sit up and rub my eyes.

The clock on the dresser reveals that the time is 2:35.

“It’s so early, Mother. What do you need at this hour?” I can’t help but groan. My body is heavy from sleep and sore from the exertion. Never before had I had sex so many times or experienced so much pleasure.

Glancing around, I wonder where Lovely is. Only Mother and I are on the bed.

She runs her fingers through my hair, sending tingles down my spine. “Mother is ovulating, John. It’s now or never.”

I blink slowly, processing the word I should know and understand but whose definition escapes me.

“Will you give Mother a baby?”

In this moment, I want to fulfill her request more than anything else. Like the dog I played two days ago, I nod my head with my mouth open. My cock springs to attention like a soldier reporting for duty.

“That’s my good boy.” Talking quickly, She runs a silky hand over my cheek. “Now there’s something we need first. Down in the basement is a dirty bundle of clothes. Inside, you’ll find a little–,” she glances around while trying to think of the word, “—creature. Bring it to me, okay? Bring it to Mother.”

“Yes, Mother.” I jump and race from the room.

Compared to the heat in the bedroom, the air in the house is cold. Icy.

Every hair on my body stands on end. My penis shrivels and retreats to prevent frostbite.

I hurry, moving as quickly as I can while remaining at a walk. Through the hallway. Into the foyer. Face to face with the door that shouldn’t be there. That was never there before. Not in the nineteen years I lived in this house as a child.

It’s here because it’s required by Mother. She summoned it and all the lovely things to go with it. Lovely things. The thought stirs a memory. Yes. Lovely. She was amazing. I wonder where she is now.

I open the impossible door and am hit by a wave of heat. The stairwell walls flash with oranges and reds like a bonfire is lit down below.

Something wails, a cry for aid echoing up from the depths of the house.

Suddenly, I don’t want to go down there. Caught between fire and ice, my palms sweat. My heart leaps to my throat. My bowels threaten to loosen and spill whatever contents they contain.

Mother needs this, I remind myself. Do it for her.

My foot feels like it’s attached to a brick as I lift and slide it forward. Followed by the other. Gravity aids me as I lug myself down the stairs.

The fire shadows dance on the walls down here, too, lighting up the room without me being able to find a single flame. No matter.

As she said, in the middle of the floor, a swath of fabric is wrapped around an object roughly the size of the sheep I’d brought home the day before. I scoop it up and cradle it in my arms.

An impulse to inspect it tugs at me as it squirms and fusses.