Saturday

Avery woke slowly to the feeling of warm skin against his back and a heavy arm draped over his waist. For a few seconds he didn’t remember where he was. Then the deep, pleasant ache in his hole and the faint scent of sex and piss still clinging to the sheets brought everything back.

Martha’s bed.

He shifted carefully. Her arm tightened for a moment, then relaxed. When he turned his head he found her already awake, watching him with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Morning,” she said quietly.

Avery’s cheeks warmed. “Morning, Mom…”

She brushed a strand of hair from his face, thumb lingering on his cheek. There was no immediate demand, no rough order. Just a long, assessing look that made his stomach flutter. After a moment she leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, tasting him like she was still deciding how much of him she wanted to keep.

When she pulled back she simply said, “Stay in bed a little longer. I’m going to shower.”

She slid out of the sheets, completely naked, her thick cock soft but still impressive as it swayed with her steps. Avery watched her walk into the en-suite bathroom. The moment the water started running, his phone lit up on the nightstand.

Then it kept lighting up.

Hale:

Still thinking about last night. You took everything I gave you. Free this weekend?

Reeves:

My place or yours. I want longer this time. And I might bring someone.

Okonkwo:

Good morning, Avery. I hope you’re not too sore. I’d like to see you again soon.

Vargas:

We’re arranging something for next week. You’ll be there.

Avery’s face heated as he scrolled. Then new messages appeared from numbers he had saved after the subway incident.

Diana:

Pretty boy. Free today? I’ve been thinking about that mouth of yours.

Helen:

Diana shared your contact. Hope that’s okay. I want another turn.

Clara:

You still look so fuckable in my head. Message me when you’re free.

Lucy:

Don’t ignore us, Avery. We were nice to you on the train. Return the favor.

Several more from Alice, Olivia, Anna, and Grace followed in quick succession. Avery sat up against the headboard, naked under the sheet, and began answering them one by one with soft, careful replies. He never outright refused, but he also didn’t promise exact times. Just enough to keep every conversation open and warm.

He was still typing when the shower stopped.

Martha stepped out a few minutes later, towel wrapped around her body, hair damp. She glanced at the phone in his hands but didn’t ask to see it. Instead she walked over, tipped his chin up, and kissed him again.

“I have to go into the office for a few hours,” she said. “Some of the new client paperwork can’t wait. You’ll be home alone.”

Avery nodded, still a little flushed from the messages. “Okay.”

She dressed in a sharp blouse and skirt, the outline of her cock visible for a moment before the fabric settled. Before leaving she cupped his face once more.

“Be good,” she said, voice low. “Or don’t. Just remember who gets you first when I come back.”

Then she was gone.

The house felt larger once the front door closed. Avery showered in his own bathroom, washing away the worst of the previous night’s evidence while still feeling the pleasant stretch inside him. His body recovered quickly—another quiet gift of this new life. By the time he dressed in a soft oversized shirt and short shorts that barely covered anything, he looked almost untouched again.

He wandered downstairs and opened the living-room curtains.

The neighborhood was already awake.

A few houses down, a tall futa woman with short black hair was watering her garden in nothing but a thin tank top and shorts, the heavy shape of her cock clear against the fabric. Across the street another neighbor—curvy, mid-thirties, deep brown skin—was taking out recycling while openly staring at Avery’s window. When she noticed him looking she didn’t look away. She simply smiled, slow and interested, and adjusted the front of her shorts.

Avery’s pulse quickened.

He stepped out onto the front porch under the pretense of checking the mail. The morning air was warm. Within minutes two more neighbors found reasons to pass by: one walking a small dog, another “coincidentally” checking her mailbox. Both were futas. Both looked at him the way the women on the train and at the party had looked at him—hungry, assessing, already imagining.

The dog-walker, a muscular woman in her late thirties with cropped blonde hair, stopped at the end of his driveway.

“You’re Martha’s boy, right? Avery?”

He nodded, cheeks warming. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled. “I’m Rhea. From three doors down. We’ve seen you around, but you don’t come outside much.” Her eyes dropped openly to his bare thighs and the way the short shorts clung to him. “You should. Weather’s nice.”

Before Avery could answer, the curvy neighbor from across the street crossed over. Her name turned out to be Simone. She was warmer, more direct, and made no effort to hide the growing bulge in her shorts while they exchanged small talk about the neighborhood, the weather, and how quiet the street usually was on Saturdays.

Neither woman touched him. Not yet. But the invitation in their eyes was clear.

Avery eventually retreated inside, heart beating a little faster, phone already buzzing again with new messages from the subway group and one short note from Hale:

Hale:

I’m free this afternoon if you are. Just say the word.

He didn’t reply immediately.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed in a strange, charged quiet. Avery answered messages, ate a late breakfast, and occasionally caught glimpses of neighbors lingering near their fences or windows. Twice someone knocked—once a younger futa delivering “extra muffins,” once an older one asking if Martha was home and staying to chat a little too long when she learned Avery was alone.

He remained polite, soft-spoken, and carefully non-committal, but he also never closed the door too quickly.

By late afternoon the house felt like it was being watched.

Then his phone rang.