Family visit

The doorbell rang again—a cheerful, two-tone chime that felt obscenely loud in the quiet aftermath.

Jessica’s eyes went wide with pure panic. “Oh, shit,” she hissed, scrambling off me, our sweat-slicked skin peeling apart. “It’s Cathy. My sister-in-law. And her husband, Rob. Drinks tonight. I completely forgot!” Her movements were frantic as she grabbed her leggings and t-shirt from the floor. “Get up! Clothes! Now!”

I rolled off the bed, legs wobbly, still naked and glistening with the thick, pearlescent evidence of her. My clothes were a tangled heap near the footboard. The chime rang a third time—ding-dong-DING-DONG.

“Just… stay here! Don’t make a sound!” Jessica whispered, pulling her clothes on haphazardly, no time for underwear. I could still see the faint blush of arousal on her chest, the quick rise and fall of her breasts under the thin cotton. “Hide. In the closet. I’ll text you when it’s clear to sneak out.” She slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.

I stood in the middle of the master bedroom, the scent of sex—musky, sweet, and deeply intimate—thick in the air. Hide in a closet? Like some scared kid? A slow, defiant grin spread across my face. No. Not anymore. Not with the Omni App.

Muffled voices floated up from downstairs—pleasant, social tones. My eyes landed on the dresser. Framed photos: Mr. Stevenson with Jessica and their kids at Disneyland; another with a taller, athletic-looking woman who shared his smile—Cathy, had to be. A total MILF, with sharp, confident eyes and a smirk that promised trouble. Next to her, a fit, grinning guy—Rob. They looked like the kind of people who did triathlons on weekends and hosted perfect barbecues.

My fingers flew across my phone’s screen, giddy with a dark, thrilling certainty. The Omni App’s black void opened:

*Cathy Stevenson loves to cheat on her husband Rob every time she visits her brother's house, and her sister-in-law Jessica is always eager to help.*

I hit SAVE.

The air in the room didn’t shimmer, nothing changed. But the voices downstairs did seem to shift in tone. A new laugh cut through, lower, richer, and more predatory than Jessica’s social chirp.

“Oh, Rob, relax, baby. This won’t take long,” the new voice cooed, a velvet-wrapped command. “Grab a beer, put the game on the big screen. Jessica and I have some… urgent girl talk to catch up on.”

Footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later the bedroom door swung open.

Jessica stood there, but the flustered hostess was gone. Her face was flushed with a different heat now, her lips swollen from kissing, and a look of pure, conspiratorial glee shone in her eyes. Leaning against the doorframe beside her was the woman from the photo.

Cathy Stevenson was taller, a Valkyrie in a sleek, stretchy black maternity dress that clung to every new, voluptuous curve like a second skin. Her belly was a perfect, high, taut globe, a monument to her husband’s oblivious potency. But above it, her breasts were apocalyptic—heavy, full, veined globes that strained the soft fabric into transparency, the dark, dinner-plate-sized areolas and the thick, hard points of her nipples etched clearly against the black. Her face was all sharp, cruel angles and knowing, moss-green eyes that swept over the room and landed on me with a stare so hungry it felt like being flayed.

“Well, hello there,” Cathy purred, her voice a smoky contralto that vibrated in my bones. She stepped into the room, and Jessica followed, closing and locking the door with a soft, gunshot-final click. “Jess whispered she’d trapped a delicious little rabbit. I see she undersold you.” Her gaze was a physical touch, traveling the length of my naked body, pausing at my half-hard cock as if assessing a cut of meat. A slow, terrifyingly approving smile touched her lips. “Mmm. Yes. You’ll do.”

“Told you he was a prime cut,” Jessica breathed, leaning back against the door, arms crossed under her breasts, watching us with the rapt attention of a scientist at a groundbreaking, unethical experiment.

Cathy approached. Her hips swayed with a hypnotic, earth-mother rhythm that spoke of absolute power. She stopped so close I could feel the radiant heat from her pregnant body. I could smell her—spicier, deeper than Jessica’s, like frankincense and dark amber, mixed with the warm, sweet, cloying scent of her skin and the faint, metallic tang of her milk. Her presence was a gravity well.

“My sister-in-law is a generous little whore,” she murmured, not smiling. She ran a single, cool, manicured fingernail down the center of my chest, carving a line through the sweat. “Sharing her treats.” Her hand stopped, palm flat over my pounding heart. “But I have a single question, puppy. Do you have the stomach for a real woman? A woman who’s been starving?” She took my hand, her grip iron, and pressed my palm first against the firm, warm drum of her belly. A powerful, angry kick thumped against my hand. Then, she slowly, inexorably guided it up to cup one colossal, leaking breast. It was a staggering weight, a warm, lush planet, her nipple a hard, eager stone against my palm.

She threw her head back and groaned, a deep, seismic sound of relief. “God, yes. They’re so full… so fucking achey.” She arched, shoving more of that heavy, milk-laden flesh into my hand. “My devoted husband downstairs is a dull, dependable tool. He plants his seed and thinks his work is done.” Her other hand snaked down, her fingers—cold as a priest’s—wrapping around my rapidly hardening length. “He has no idea what a real cock is for. So… what do you say, puppy?” She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear, her breath a hot poison. “You wanna be my real man for the night? I promise…” she squeezed, hard, “…I’ll ruin you for every other woman who isn’t a goddamn fertility goddess.”

I swallowed, my throat parched. My cock was now fully rigid and throbbing in her skilled grip. “I don’t mind,” I managed, my voice rough with want.

“Good boy,” she breathed, the predator finally baring her teeth. She glanced over her shoulder at Jessica. “Be a darling and make sure my beloved idiot is profoundly distracted, Jess?”

“On it,” Jessica said with a grin, unlocking the door. “Try not to scream the house down. The walls aren’t that thick.” She slipped out, leaving us alone.

Cathy’s attention snapped back to me, fiercer now. Her hands went to the thin straps of her dress. “You just gonna stare, stud?” she teased, her voice dropping to that rich, full alto that carried a delicious arrogance. It was the voice of a woman who took what she wanted. “Or are you gonna put that beautiful, young cock to its proper use?” With a fluid, graceful roll of her shoulders, she shimmied the dress down her body, letting it pool at her feet in a circle of dark fabric. She wore nothing underneath.

She was a miracle of obscenity. Tall, powerfully built, now magnificently deformed by pregnancy into something biblical. Her belly was a vast, smooth, proud dome, the skin stretched so tight it shone. Below it was a neat, blonde landing strip, the lips beneath swollen and glistening. Her breasts were catastrophic, swollen to bursting, hanging like monumental fruit on her chest, the skin a roadmap of faint blue veins. Her nipples were huge, dark brown, and painfully erect, leaking thin, creamy rivulets.

“They’re so heavy,” she moaned, the whine of a spoiled queen, arching her back obscenely, offering her full, leaking udders to me. A steady drip of pearly milk now fell from each tip, splattering on the carpet. “They hurt. Make it better. Suck it out of me.”

I was on her like a animal. I lunged forward, taking one thick, fat nipple deep into my mouth. The taste was shockingly sweet and rich, like condensed cream and almonds. I suckled hard, pulling the warm, sweet milk from her, and she screamed—a raw, ragged sound of pure, **** relief. Her fingers twisted in my hair, pulling, holding me to her like a nursing cub. My other hand mauled her ample ass—a soft, generous shelf—kneading the firm flesh until I knew I’d leave bruises.

“YES! FUCK, YES!” she howled, bucking against me. Her own hand dove between us, her fingers finding my shaft, now slick with her milk and my spit. She jerked me, a rough, impatient, possessive stroke. “Look at you. My good little milk-machine. Now fuck me with it. I need that fat, young cock to rearrange my insides. Now.”

Lifting her was a challenge—she was tall and solid with her pregnancy—but the effort sent a jolt of raw, primal satisfaction through me. I got her onto the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress, right into the warm, wet patch Jessica and I had made.

“Oh, you animal,” Cathy moaned, a wild, ecstatic grin splitting her face as she felt the damp evidence. “You fucked his wife right here. I can smell her on you. I love it.” She spread her powerful thighs, an open invitation to sacrilege. “Now do worse to me.”

I pushed her legs apart, my own breath sawing in my chest. The sight of her, so open, slick, and swollen, her glistening folds parted like a ripe fruit, was brain-melting. She was a river.

She didn’t wait for poetry. Her hand shot down, her cool fingers a vise around me, and she jammed me right to her entrance, notching the head against her blazing, dripping heat.

“And now,” I growled, my voice foreign, “I’m gonna show you what a real fucking is.”

Her smile turned feral, unhinged. She reached down again, her long fingers a firm, commanding ring, positioning me. Her eyes, wide and black with ****, insane need, burned into mine.

She let go and braced herself, lifting her hips in a vulgar, triumphant presentation. “DO IT!” she shrieked, the command echoing off the walls. “Fuck this cheating, pregnant whore! Fuck me till I forget my own name! Fuck his baby right out of my slutty womb! BREAK ME!”

I drove forward, and the universe dissolved into wet, tight, blasphemous heat.

A guttural, unearthly roar of pure, savage relief tore from her throat as I impaled her. She was incredibly, impossibly tight, a scorching, clutching velvet fist that yielded with a glorious, tearing resistance. Her pregnant belly slammed against my stomach, a firm, warm barrier. Her inner muscles spasmed around me in a frantic, welcoming rhythm.

“OH, GOD… HIS CHILD IS IN ME AND YOU’RE FUCKING MY PREGNANT BELLY!” she screamed, her head thrashing back, tendons standing out in her neck. Her hands flew to my shoulders, her nails digging in, drawing blood. “FILL ME! FLOOD MY MARRIED CUNT WITH YOUR HOT YOUNG SEED! DO IT!”

I buried myself to the hilt, feeling her body fully, violently accept mine, her heat devouring me. For a second, I was welded inside her, a part of her corruption.

Then I pulled back, almost out, watching her face contort.

“DON’T YOU DARE BE GENTLE!” she shrieked, spittle flying from her lips. “I DIDN’T COME HERE FOR A FUCKING WALTZ! DESTROY ME!”

I obeyed.

I slammed back into her, a full-****, pelvis-cracking thrust. The impact jolted her up the bed, a piercing, glass-shattering scream of pure, undiluted pleasure ripping from her lungs. I set a punishing, jackhammer pace, my hips a blur, the wet, brutal SMACK-SMACK-SMACK of our collision drowning out all reason, mingling with her ragged, sobbing gasps and the tortured shriek of the bedsprings.

“YES! LIKE THAT! JUST LIKE THAT, YOU FUCKING STUD!” she bellowed, her voice rising into hysterical registers. Her legs scissored around my waist, her heels digging into my spine, pulling me deeper with each annihilating thrust. “HARDER! GOD, YOUR COCK IS PERFECT… STRETCHING MY MARRIED HOLE SO GOOD… HE NEVER TOUCHES ME LIKE THIS… HE’S NOT A MAN!”

Her apocalyptic breasts convulsed with every driving impact, milk spraying in arcs. She reached between us, fingers frantic on her swollen clit, rubbing furious, **** circles as I hammered into her very soul. Her breathing became a frantic, whistling hyperventilation, her moans turning into a continuous, demented shriek of building, world-ending ecstasy.

“I’M CLOSE… I’M SO FUCKING CLOSE, BABY…!” she chanted, a mad prophetess, her body beginning to quake and seize beneath me. “DON’T STOP… MAKE THIS CHEATING BITCH COME! MAKE ME COME ON THE COCK THAT’S NOT MY HUSBAND’S!”

Her inner walls suddenly detonated, clamping down on me like a hot, silken supernova, a series of violent, rhythmic contractions that milked my length with terrifying ****. Her back arched off the bed in a terrifying bridge, a strangled, wordless, soul-rending scream tearing from the depths of her being as her orgasm obliterated her. Her whole body convulsed, her grip on my shoulders bone-crushing, her pussy pulsating around me in a devastating, endless rhythm of ruin.

The sight—this powerful, pregnant goddess utterly and violently unmade, screaming her betrayal into the very air—was the final trigger. With a final, deep, grinding thrust that felt like it reached her throat, I erupted. A raw, animal roar was torn from my chest as my release shot into her in hot, pulsing, endless ropes, flooding her deepest, most forbidden places. My body shuddered violently, completely emptied, claimed.

I collapsed. My strength vanished. I fell forward, my face landing in the damp, milk-scented valley between her giant, heaving tits. I stayed inside her, spent, my weight slightly on my forearms to avoid crushing her glorious belly. Her scent—spicy perfume, sex, sweat, milk, and that unique, sweet, pregnant musk—was now the only air I’d ever breathe again.

Slowly, her legs, which had been locked like a trap, fell open, boneless. Her hands, which had been claws, now stroked my back with a strange, almost maternal laziness.

“Holy… fucking… hell,” she sighed, each word a universe of satiation. She shifted, and I slipped out of her with a wet, final sound, followed by a hot gush of our mixed release onto the already-soaked sheets. “I want you on a fucking retainer. I want you to live in this room.”

I pushed up on my elbows, crawled up her magnificent, ruined body, and found her mouth. I kissed her—deep, open-mouthed, a messy, saliva-filled claim, tasting our sweat, her milk, my salt, and her victory.

“Damn, stud,” she breathed when we broke, pushing herself up. Her hair was a wild cyclone, her makeup ravaged, her lips bruised and shining. She looked like a temple after a particularly enthusiastic pillaging. “That was good.” She swung her legs off the bed and, without a shred of modesty, sank to her knees on the sodden carpet before me. “Now. Let mommy clean her mess off her good boy.”

Before I could move, she took my softening, slick cock into her mouth. Her mouth was hot and avid, sucking and licking with a devoted, sloppy reverence, lapping up every drop of our combined fluids from my shaft and balls, swallowing with loud, appreciative gulps. The sight—the tall, powerful, pregnant queen on her knees, worshiping the cock that had just cuckolded her husband ten feet below—was so obscenely powerful it almost made me hard again.

A soft, deliberate knock sounded at the door, followed by Jessica's voice, thick with amusement. “You two finished summoning demons in there? I made Rob a second drink. He’s getting twitchy. Thinks the commentators are getting a little too… emphatic.”

Cathy’s body shook with a silent, wicked convulsion of laughter around my cock. She gave me one last, draining suck, pulling off with a wet, cavernous POP. “Duty calls, my glorious little homewrecker. Time to tap out.” She looked up at me from her knees, her green eyes blazing with insane mischief and a terrifying, eternal promise. “But you remember whose cunt you just owned. This isn’t over.”

She scooped up her dress, slipped it on with an actress’s composure, and glided out of the room, a vision of sleek, pregnant elegance. The only evidence was a single, thick, creamy trail of my spend I saw sliding slowly, deliberately, down the inside of her smooth thigh, disappearing beneath the hem of the black fabric. I said nothing.

Jessica locked the door again and turned to me. Her gaze dropped to my lap, where Cathy’s spit and our fluids glistened in the lamplight. A slow, wicked, possessive smile spread across her face, far more dangerous than any of Cathy’s roars. “Oh, I see. She left business undone,” she purred, her voice a silken threat.

She climbed onto the bed, right into the epicenter of the wet spot, and pushed me onto my back. She took me into her mouth, and her technique was a hungry, angry reclamation. She was erasing Cathy, overwriting her with a more familiar, **** hunger.

The insanity of the last hour—the app’s raw power, the illicit visuals, the taste of stolen milk—coiled tight again in my gut, a serpent ready to strike.

“Jess… I’m gonna… right now…” I grunted, my back arching.

She understood. She pulled her mouth off with a wet, tearing sound and tilted her face up. She didn't open her mouth. She kept her eyes locked on mine, her lips a tight, challenging line. She wanted a trophy. I gave it to her.

My second orgasm hit, a painful, exquisite dry-heave of my soul, and I watched, hypnotized, as thick, hot ropes shot across her cheek, her lips, her chin, and spattered into her dark hair like war paint. She gasped, flinching at the heat, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop on the corner of her mouth. Then she smiled, a messy, triumphant, deranged thing, and deliberately rubbed the rest into her skin with her palms before bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck them clean with a loud, obscene slurp.

“You like the picture?” she asked, her voice raw. She used the edge of the sheet to wipe the biggest globs, then dressed with frantic speed. “Okay. Escape. Now. Rob's in the den, facing the TV. Hallway to the front door is behind him. You ghost out. Now.”

She cracked the door, a sliver of hall light cutting across her cum-streaked face, listened, and gave me a sharp, final nod—a general dismissing her weapon.

I pulled on my jeans and shirt, leaving my boxers and socks as forgotten artifacts. The house was a tomb save for the muffled blare of the sports game and a low, complacent chuckle. I slipped into the hallway. To my left, through the archway, I saw the back of Rob’s head. He was sunk in his recliner, a beer bottle dangling, utterly, blissfully ignorant.

And there, leaning against the kitchen island just behind him, was Cathy. She held a glass of water, condensation beading. She saw me the moment I materialized. Her eyes, still heavy and sated, locked onto mine. She put a finger to those swollen, ruined lips. Shhh.

Heart trying to batter its way out of my ribs, I crept forward, barefoot on the cold tile. I passed within three feet of Rob. He took a long, lazy sip, chuckling at the screen. I was a ghost in his own home.

I reached Cathy. She set her glass down with a soft, definitive clink. Without a word, she cupped my face. Her hands were warm, possessive. She, being much taller, bent her neck, pulling me up to meet her, and kissed me. It was deep, languid, and final, tasting of her spice, my salt, her milk, and absolute, shared damnation. Her pregnant belly pressed its truth against me. One hand slid down, over my chest, to give my ass a firm, promising, claiming squeeze through the denim.

She broke the kiss slowly, her smile now a full-blown grin of pure, wicked, world-breaking conspiracy. Her lips were wet with me. She looked from my eyes down to my crotch and back up, a silent, screaming acknowledgment.

Rob stirred, the leather sighing. “Everything okay, babe? You got quiet.”

“Just perfect, honey,” Cathy called back, her eyes never leaving mine, her voice smooth as poisoned honey. “Just… savoring.” She gave me a final, nuclear wink and a gentle, commanding push toward the front door.

I didn't look back. I turned the handle, stepped out into the shocking void of the cool night, and pulled the door shut behind me.