Tim's Eighth Trade

It didn't take Justice long to stop waving her hand in front of her, the weight of the trade decided, the magic prepared. He was beginning to second guess himself. had he made the right decision? Was there another way out of his problem, a way that wouldn't involve being in a sexual relationship with his own mother? Before he could express his doubts, though, Tim watched as Justice thrust her smoking first forward, waved both hands over her head, then announced, "It is done! The trade is complete," as she had seven times before.

"So what happens now?" Tim asked, feeling nervous about his new fate.

"Happens now? Nothing out of the ordinary, that's what happens," Justice said, her weathered face scrunching up as she assessed her work, "You and mommy-cakes can do whatever you want together and nobody will bat an eye. Thanks to yours truly, you two are meant to be together!"

"But what about..."

"Sorry, sweet-cheeks, but I've got to run," Justice interjected, "My sisters are up to no good, and I've got to figure out a way to put a stop to it before your life gets even weirder."

A strong metallic smell filled the air and the old woman vanished.

"But what did I trade?" Tim mumbled to nobody in particular.

"Trade?" Tim's mother's voice sounded from the bed, "What are you talking about, babe?"

Tim looked down at the kneeling woman, still staring at him with lust in her eyes. While part of him still knew that she was his mother, that relationships like this were never supposed to be, another part, informed by Justice's power, told him that this beautiful lingerie-clad woman was his, that she belonged with him. His penis stirred in his panties.

"Sorry," came his father's meek voice from the doorway, "I didn't know you were being intimate."

Tim turned and looked at his dad. He had changed since the trade. No longer did Tim's mother's pajamas fit him, but instead he had a small paunch out front, straining the buttons on the top and stretching the elastic on the bottoms. Looking down at his own body was useless with his breasts in the way, so Tim looked across the room at his reflection in his mirror to discover that his stomach had shrank dramatically, giving him a thin, waspish waist. Yet another blow to his masculinity, although he did have to admit that the nightie he had on looked quite nice with his new figure.

"Terry, sweetie," Tim's mother said in a very matronly tone, "Go back to bed and sleep. We'll see you at breakfast, but right now Tim and I would like to be alone."

"Of course," Tim's dad blushed and turned down the hallway, "Goodnight!"

The door clicked shut and Tim heard a moan from the bed. He pulled his eyes from his reflection and stared at his mother, one hand in her panties, while the other was teasing a breast through her lingerie. Her eyes were locked on his while she bit her bottom lip.

Tim's mother had never looked so sexy.

And while it was wrong, he knew that it was so very right. She was supposed to be with him, and he was supposed to be with her! That's the way the world was put together, so why fight it. He swayed across the room to his waiting lover, bent forward and brought his lips to hers. Her hand slipped from her panties and into his, while he wrapped his arms around her body.

Soon the pair were on the bed, his mother's legs spread wide while he pounded away, their breasts bouncing against one another's. She moaned, he squeaked, both enjoyed each other carnally. When Tim finally orgasmed, sweat pouring down his face, his mother's hands squeezing his breasts, he called out her name in a high, soprano tone he never thought he'd hear from his own throat. But the climax was perfection, as was their union. Natalie and Tim. Tim and Natalie. Together, the way things were meant to be.