O.Z. One-Shots - Love You Less

I knew my life would change after my son George turned 18. I heard all the horror stories from my bitter old friends, and I read the self-help books about becoming a dad in an OZ.

I was prepared for losing the right to sleep with my wife Claire in the big bedroom... For all the lonely nights, and the loud noises at all hours. Growing Alpha boys have needs, and my wife and I are expected to do everything we can to help.

What I wasn't prepared for was "love you less."

Confused? I'll explain.

The first time I heard that vile, degrading phrase, I didn’t really understand it. I was on my way to work, and my wife was sucking our boy off on the front porch.

“Later, Champ. Love you, Honey,” I called out as I passed them, trying not to look... I was still getting used to seeing her between his legs.

“Uph ooh ess,” my wife grunted through a mouthful of cock. I was pretty sure the first two words were “love you,” but I didn’t quite catch the third. At the time I just assumed it was a super-garbled “love you too,” even though it didn’t sound much like that. I was wrong.

The second time I heard it was painfully clear. I was at the office, and I had just found out that I needed to stay late. So I called home, just to let Claire and George know that I wouldn’t be making them dinner.

My wife’s voice was unsteady when she picked up, and I could hear the bed squeaking in the background. This wasn’t my first time calling while George was balls-deep in his mother, though, so I kept my chin up and explained the situation.

“I’m s-sorry to hear that, Dear,” my wife said when I was done. “C-could you order us a pizza? George is hungry, and I’m pretty busy. He’s been—”

“Yes, of course,” I interrupted, before she could start talking about her day. Those conversations generally revolved around my son’s sexual performance, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear Claire half-complain/half-brag about the many creative ways he’d banged her brains out since I left for work.

“The usual order is fine,” she continued, before pausing. “Actually, b-better add another Large, he’s hungry... Ah... No surprise there. His morning load filled that big cereal bowl you like, and you should’ve seen him throw me over the—”

“Okay, I’m on it,” I snapped. “Bye. Love you.”

“Love you less,” she moaned, and then I heard a thunk as the phone was tossed away... But not hung up.

I froze at my desk, processing what I’d just heard. “Love you less?” That couldn’t mean what I thought... Or if it did, George must have made her say it. That made sense. Our son was on a bit of a power trip that month, ever since he went to the clinic and got all those popular Alpha mods done. Having a dick twice as big as his old man’s and cumming like a fire hose does strange things to an 18-year-old’s mind, apparently.

I listened to the call for a few moments, cringing a little at the slapping, moaning, and thudding. Any second now, Claire would tell George off. She’d say how bad she felt, how embarrassed she was to treat her husband that way. How dare he make her say “love you less” instead of “love you more.”

Instead, it was George who spoke first: “Did you just tell Dad you love him less?”

“Yes,” my wife replied immediately. “Is... Is that okay?”

“Guess so,” our son grunted. “Seems kinda mean.”

“I—I just think it’s important to be honest,” Claire gasped, breathing more heavily by the second as the slapslapslap grew quicker. “But if you d-don’t want me to say things like that...”

“Nah, it’s fine. Ungh... Gonna cum soon...”

“Oh, fuuuck... Me too, Baby, don’t stop—”

And just like that, they forgot about me and dove back into their usual routine. I listened to my wife’s orgasm, growing harder and harder even as she swore like a sailor and praised our son’s “perfect fucking cock.”

When they were both spent, I head George whispering: “love you, Mommy.”

“Love you more,” she replied. “Always.”