Save it for Peter

"April," you shout, glancing over at her while you slam balls-deep into her son's ass. "Gonna cum... Bring a cup."

"On it," she replies cheerfully. "Try to hold on, kids, I just need to grab one--Here we go."

With that she hurries over and drops down to the floor, holding one of Peter's beer glasses. She takes the usual position: kneeling beneath Mike's bouncing cock, holding the empty pint glass between her huge tits.

"Who's drinking today? If it's me, I could just drink straight from the tap," she says, smiling up at you. "It would save on dishes... I did just finish washing up."

"Nah... It's Peter's turn, and you're gonna feed him." You squeeze Mike's ass roughly. "C'mon, Dude, hurry up and blow your load down Mommy's cleavage."

That's too much for your friend to handle. His hips tremble, then he cries out as huge jets of cum fly down onto April. She manages to catch most of it in the glass, while the rest splatters onto her tits. One thick streak lands across her lips, and she rolls her eyes before trying to spit it back into the rapidly-filling pint.

"Almost... There," you moan, still pounding Mike with everything you've got. He's struggling to keep his balance now, and you keep a firm grip on his bimbofied body to hold him upright while you work your way towards orgasm. "...Guuuh..."

Your balls tense up, and after one final plunge you half-shove Mike away. He goes sprawling across the kitchen, nearly knocking over Cassandra's tripod before ending up in a heap over by the sink. You're more focused on April, however, as you unload into the target she's presenting. Your accuracy is better than Mike's... Although in all fairness, your buttfucking may have thrown off his aim a bit. Your load is almost as big as his, and by the time you're done the pint is half-full.

"Nice work," you say, wiping your cock across April's mouth before flicking the leftover cum into the glass. "Go get your husband... It's time for his breakfast."

"M'kay," she replies, getting to her feet and placing the spunk-filled glass on the kitchen table. "Um... Where is Peter, anyway?"

"Probably passed out in the front hall," you say with a shrug. "Lazy slut... I've been way too soft on you guys lately. If he doesn't move when you tell him, spank 'dat ass' into next week, okay?"

You're playing things up a little for the cameras; more conflict makes better TV, right? Cassandra is eating it up, anyway, and April doesn't seem to mind the heavy-handed approach. She heads off into the hall, and the camera shifts over to her son. He's curled up in the corner, his half-erect cock leaking onto the floor from under his tiny skirt.