Rat Catcher (mom/son, incest, cuckhold)

[DiscipleN]

Rat Catcher
by DiscipleN


Being cuckolded isn't like being pregnant. A woman is either pregnant or isn't. Traditionally, a husband is cuckolded when his wife has sex with another man. If my wife cheated on me with a woman, that supposedly wouldn't count, because cuckolding is also about raising another man's child. It's got lots of room for interpretation. I can't figure out how my situation overlaps the cuckold spectrum. You see, my wife is cheating on me with our son who is too young to cum.

It's not like Corinne is cold in our bed. She and I have pretty amazing sex still, eight years after Grant was born and after eleven years of marriage. At least once a month Corinne will drag me to our bed and pretend to rape me. I do get off powerfully when she takes charge. Mostly we have loving sex every three or four days. I instigate it about twice as often as she, and I'm confident that she's not pretending or even faking her orgasms. I'm confident because I recently overheard my wife confessing her lust for me, to our son.

My dilemma began on Grant's eighth birthday. Corinne and I hosted his party in our backyard. He was allowed to invite ten guests. Eight showed up, five boys and three girls, all Grant's classmates. I hadn't met any of the children before then. His report cards often noted that he played well with others, but Grant never invited friends to play at our house. He always went to theirs.

I was curious to see how he interacted with his friends, but despite the backyard turning into a festival of childish games and pranks and scraped knees and bruised elbows, Grant participated haphazardly. He'd play one round of pin the tail on the donkey and take off to swing on the tire hanging from the old apple tree in our yard.

It was the last survivor of a series of orchards which had been converted to residential housing decades ago. After a half dozen swings, he jumped off and shot marbles with a couple other boys. I assumed that he was trying not to play favorites, but I noticed Corinne shaking her head.

"What's the matter?"

"Poor Grant." She set down the grill spatula in her hand and hugged me. "The other children are ignoring him."

It seemed I needed to look closer. After studying the scene, I sooorta saw what she meant. Grant would get into a game, but the other kids wouldn't give him much attention. They weren't rude or mean. They just interacted with each other more often than with Grant. I felt sorry for the little guy, but I was in no position to help him. As an adult, my presence was at best a safeguard and at worst embarrassing authority.

I returned to setting the table, something that I could do. It was all paper plates and plastic utensils, but I enjoy tidying things. I work as a commercial landscaper's assistant. My wife works part-time as a web designer. One of our shared loves is artistic expression. By focusing on slicing tomatoes and onions and cheese for the burgers, the antics in the backyard were a soundtrack that sounded happier than my boy was probably feeling. Every scream and squeal was joyful, none were my son's voice.

I looked up from my work to see how Corinne was coming along with the burgers, and caught her talking to Grant near the apple tree. He handed her a small fruit he had picked. It was too early in the season to be edible, but his mother accepted it with a smile and touched his cheek.

I finished setting the table, and another of my senses kicked in. The burgers! They were burning! I raced to rescue them from the grill.

It wasn't like Corinne to abandon a task, but she was nowhere in the yard. Perhaps she got distracted, fetching something from the kitchen. Fortunately, I was able to scrape off the burned bits and save the burgers, but they would be dry instead of juicy. I added cheese to offset the taste.

Still no Corinne. I took a quick scan of the yard. The kids were enjoying their games. Grant wasn't among them. I went inside and called out, "Grant? Corinne?" I heard her voice from the utility room, talking as if she hadn't heard me, though. "Your father will always excite me, in ways that-." I was quick to open it.

That was the beginning of my dilemma.

Inside, Corinne was on her knees, adjusting her bright green blouse. Grant stood next to her, zipping up his jean shorts. He wasn't wearing underwear. At my surprise intrusion, my wife covered her mouth with a hand. The top button of her top was undone. I swear her lips had been glistening. "What happened?"

"Momma fell." Grant stepped back, as if he was afraid of me.

"Darling! Are you hurt?"

"Um," Her eyes shot our son a puzzled look. They widened brightly, and she smiled at me, after swiping her mouth. "Silly, me! I slipped on the rug, Win. (Win is her pet name for me, Winton.) Corinne held out a hand, and I helped her to her feet. "Only my pride is hurt." She gave a chuckle.

Grant dashed out. "Dad'll take care of it, Momma."

She frowned at him, as if she felt neglected.

"What were you doing in here?"

"I thought I'd give him a pep talk." She stepped past me and returned outside. I followed her into the bright afternoon. She gushed at me for saving the hamburgers.

That night, Corinne was unusually amorous. She dragged me to our bed an hour before it was Grant's bedtime. When I asked, "Who's going to make sure he brushes his teeth?" She snorted. "'Win, it's his birthday. Let his teeth rot for one night."

That was the night she told me she wanted to have another child.

We'd been waiting for the right time, and I admit to excessive caution. Raising Grant had been more expensive than we'd planned for, but after eight years, we'd saved up enough for a little brother or sister for our lonely boy. I spent my seed eagerly into my wife's hot baby oven.

Randy days followed Grant's eighth birthday. Corinne and I were making love every other night. I asked her about her fertile time. We practiced natural birth control. Only this time, instead of avoiding pregnancy, we actively sought it. She told me that she was on top of it, and not to worry about wasting a single sperm. I trusted her.

My trust wavered about a week later. I was watching TV after a full day of work. I'd sliced fresh broccoli and cauliflower. Grant said he'd set the table. I was taking a break while they wrapped up. The mystery show on the screen was so suspenseful, my mouth was dry. I got up to pour myself a glass of water.

Grant's voice sounded as I rounded the corner. "What are you doing, Momma? I told you not to wear them." Corinne was leaning with a hand on the granite countertop where she had been preparing a salad. Her back blocked my view of Grant standing directly in front of her. Her knees were trembling. "But, Sweetie, your father-"

Our son's head jerked up at my arrival. I couldn't really see, but it looked like he pulled a hand away from his mother and stepped back, holding it behind his back. Corinne spun around. "Winton!" She was breathing heavily.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't fathom what they were doing. I assumed the best. "What were you helping your mother with?"

"Nothing." Grant blurted, but then he said, "A cranberry fell into Momma's pants."

Corinne blushed. "The silly boy." She laughed. "He reached for it without thinking." Her dark blue slacks shook slightly.

"You let your Mom take care of things like that, Grant." I lectured.

"Yeah. Okay." He stepped away from his mother, wiping his hand on the back of his shorts. "I hope we eat soon." Grant crabbed around me and went to his room.

I hugged Corinne. "That must have been embarrassing."

She froze in my arms for a second. "Oh, you mean him reaching for-" Another laugh interrupted. "Thanks." She melted against me.

The next morning, I woke early, energized. Sex had been great the night before. Corinne was getting dressed. She usually woke first, because she could nap during the day. Part-time web design was easy enough. She was pulling on her slacks. She didn't like wearing skirts during her work days. Pants helped her get into a professional mood.

I observed, "You forgot to put on panties."

"I didn't forget." She winked at me. That told me we were going to have sex two days in a row! I hoped after last night's double-header, that I could come to the plate swinging. Usually I can, but on the occasions when I disappointed her, I felt terrible.

In the afternoon, Corinne called me at work. "Can you pick up Grant on the way home? He's at Sally's house, but her mother isn't answering the phone." She gave me the address. I left work a early, as I didn't like that Sally's mom might be neglecting her responsiblity to watch Grant, let alone her daughter.

I pulled up to the address and got out of the car. A little girl in a pretty, yellow dress was sitting on the front porch.

"Are you Sally?" I recognized her from the party.

"Uh, huh." She frowned. "Are you Grant's dad?"

"Yes. I'm here to pick him up." Not seeing my son, I asked. "Where is he?"

"Inside." She sighed.

"Why are you outside?"

The girl's frown turned into a sharp glare, as if I'd said something utterly stupid. Her changed expression told me that she wasn't sad about being alone outside.

"Can I go in and get him?"

"It's okay, but I wouldn't." She resumed her mope.

I opened the door gingerly, "Hello?" I probably said it too softly. Entering the front hall, noises and words issued from a door to the far left. Passing the living room, I reached the door. It was not quite shut. Recognizing Grant's voice, I pushed my way in. "Grant?"

"Daddy!" He twisted around, seated in a lounge chair. The room must have been Sally's father's man cave. Instead of animal trophy heads mounted along the walls, bookcases wrapped the walls, except where a large desk and office chair had been placed.

On the floor, in front of my son, Sally's mother was on her knees between Grant's widespread and very naked knees. His shorts lay beside her on the carpet. She also jerked up from what had looked like a head bobbing motion. She scrambled away from my son, backing up against a bookcase. "Mr. um, Densly! What are you doing here?" Her blouse was unbuttoned, and she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were on the small side, but they were entirely in the open!

Grant snickered as he bent down to fetch his shorts. "Thank you, Ms. Coster. I'm sorry you couldn't finish."

I couldn't not notice my son's erect penis. It was slick with saliva. The view vanished when he bent down and pulled on his cutoffs. Like Ms. Coster's breasts, his peter wasn't very large but probably average sized for his age. I stammered. "G-Grant! What was-" I turned to and accused the cringing woman, my voice rising, "WERE YOU doing!?"

"Daddy, don't be mean." My son unexpectedly scolded. "I like Ms. Coster!" He said it with such enthusiasm, my perfectly understandable outrage cooled.

"We're leaving." I told him. He followed me after snapping his pant's snap and shaking his head at the terrified woman. She flinched harder at my son's obvious disappointment.

I didn't notice him shaming her. I was only thinking about calling the police as soon as we got home. Corinne talked me out of it.

"Don't do anything until I've heard what happened - from him." She growled, obviously as upset as I. She took him into our bedroom and locked the door. I wanted to listen from my side, but that would have just inflamed me further.

I sat in front of the TV and watched a stupid sitcom.

When Corinne entered the living room, I asked. "Well?" There was something wet on her chin, like a drop of white glue.

She sat next to me on the couch and hugged herself to me. "I called her, Win. After getting Grant's side of the story, I interrogated the hell out of that bitch."

I'd never heard Corinne so angry. My own simmering anger was like a needle prick compared to hers. "What next?"

"We think about our son above all else." She declared. "That cunt deserves to be raped in prison and put on every sexual predator list in the country, but we have to protect Grant, foremost."

"We're not gonna call the cops?" I deferred.

"We should." She released me and glowered at the cackling TV. I muted it. Corinne explained, "I don't trust how the police will treat Grant. Sure, they probably want to act careful around him, but just imagine a six pack of cops wearing body armor and utility belts festooned with weaponry, invading our home. No matter how politely they behave, Grant is too young for such an experience."

I wished I had my wife's wisdom then. I hugged her. We sat for a while in front of the silent, flashing widescreen. At one point she said, "I'm sorry." She took my hand and slipped it under her pants. "I was hoping we could continue our family project." I felt her naked pussy. It's wetness surprised me, but I wasn't in the mood, that night or the next. Grant acted as if nothing important had happened.

It was Sunday when our libidos and our commitment to increasing the family was ready for another effort. I had strung a hammock from the apple tree to a hook screwed deep into the back wall of our house. Lying in my swim trunks, soaking up the sun and a frozen daiquiri, I started feeling randy. Corinne and I had sneaked quick fucks in our bedroom before, while Grant was occupied elsewhere. I remembered hearing him say that he was going down the block to visit his friend, Pablo.

I walked casually into the house but couldn't find Corinne. I thought about calling her cell phone, but that would have been obsessive. She was probably nattering with a neighbor. An abrupt squeal led me to Grant's door. Recognizing my wife's voice, I rushed through, imagining she had seen a rat. "Corinne?"

I stopped midway through the door. The spectacle before me hit like a brick wall. Corinne was laying in the middle of Grant's floor, legs spread wide. Grant was kneeling between them, poking two fingers inside his mother's vulva. Her light brown skirt, bunched around her waist, was matched by the color of her pubic hair.

Their heads jerked in my direction. Their faces blanked, surprised but without emotion.

"Daddy." Grant's eyebrows narrowed.

"Win," Corinne spoke calmly. "Close the door. I'll be right out and explain. Don't make a scene that might scare Grant."

Confused as hell, I obeyed. While I waited in the hall, I tried to untagle the incredible sight I had interrupted. I readied for a blowout with my wife. I didn't have to wait long. In about the time it would have taken her to put on panties and pull down her skirt, she slipped out of our son's room. Only, I hadn't seen any panties.

"What the hell-" I trembled, speaking firmly but trying not to explode.

"Not here." She interrupted and dragged me into our bedroom. Closing the door, she crossed her arms over her ample chest and sighed. "Okay, but please try not to scream too loudly."

I read her the full riot act, as calmly as I could. My anger burst out twice, at understandable moments. Given that I ranted for ten minutes, I thought I acted with exemplary restraint.

Corinne just nodded. "Yes." She agreed. "You're right." She accepted everything I threw at her. Her total contrition fueled the final three minutes of my rage. My voice gave out, and I simply stewed in confusion and a sense of helplessness.

"There's nothing I have to say in my defense, Winton." She took a deep breath. She been turning blue for the last minute.

"You said you'd explain." I offered her a lifeline.

"It's better if you hear it from Grant." She sat on the edge of our bed and hung her face into her hands. I heard weeping.

Unsteady footsteps led me back to my son's room. I knocked. "Grant?"

"Yes, Daddy?" He sounded as calm as ever. "You can come in."

I entered, clutching the door for balance. I failed to make it look like a natural pose. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Okay." He looked guilty. "I asked Momma about Ms. Coster. I mean, what she did, um, that day."

I understood then. He must have been as confused as I was when I interrupted that woman molesting my son. As responsible parents, Corinne and I always answered his questions about sex. He had the normal questions that an eight year old would have. "Is this my penis?" "My friend said penises do more than pee." And my personal favorite, "Why don't mommies lay eggs?"

Ms. Coster's oral assault must have knocked strange new questions into his head, but perhaps also it was why his mother had acted unreasonably and without good sense! It was only fair, after my tirade, to confirm her actions. "I'll answer your questions, Grant. Your mother overreacted, though."

"It's okay." He smiled sheepishly. "I got what I wanted to know."

"Come to me, next time." I patted his shoulder and returned to the master bedroom. Corinne apologized again. She had obsessed over the idea that, without actual experience of positive sexuality, Grant might believe that sexual assault was normal. She swore that all she did was show her body and let him touch her while answering his questions.

Women are more sensitive to the problem of sexual assault, so I had to forgive her. I love Corinne, and it was easy to do. However, I didn't feel guilty for taking her to task. We slept in each others arms but didn't make love. That would have been weird, for me at least.

Grant must have been satisfied with his mother's solution because he seemed eager to meet with his friends at their houses. Ms. Coster's attack hadn't frightened him from going out. I felt sorry for Sally, to have a sexually deviant mother, but I had promised to protect our son from questioning authorities. I hoped that her father was made of greater moral fiber and was protecting her as devotedly as Corinne and I protected Grant.

I admit to spending more time at work, during that emotionally difficult time. It was a healthy distraction from my lingering disgust at Corinne's misdeed. A week of work and sleep hardly scratched the surface of what I was feeling.

My lovely wife made it worse one morning during the second week of my funk. "Winton?" She had showered and dressed first, greeting me as I exited the bath with a towel around my waist?

"Yes, my love?" When she called me Winton instead of just Win, I knew it had to be important.

She sat on the bed and confessed. "Grant said I should tell you." Her lips scrunched left then right.

I gave her the silence she needed to collect herself. I was thinking, my son should know by now that he can tell me anything. I believed that I was a very considerate and empathetic father. Had I failed him in some way?

Corinne told me, "He wants me to answer his questions about sex, from now on."

It couldn't have been worse news. If I hadn't just caught my wife offering her body up our son as an educational specimen, I would have taken the blow to my ego and had simply promised to be there should either of them need me.

"I'm sorry, Corinne. I do believe you, but I need to confirm this."

"Yes, of course." She hung a very guilty head. "Please try not to embarrass him."

"Even an eight year old needs to face adversity from time to time." A little embarrassment shouldn't be too much for the boy. Grant acted quite mature for his age, I thought proudly.

After breakfast, we all pitched in to clean up. Corinne was twenty feet away rinsing and stacking the dishware into the washer when I asked my son. I asked half joking. "So, it seems that talking to your old man about sex makes you feel uncomfortable?"

Grant froze mid-spoon collecting. He looked at the table top. "Oh, Momma told you."

"She did. And I'm sorry for failing to be a father you can discuss anything with."

I think he blushed. His cheek got a little red. His voice surprised me though with its underscore of anger. "I didn't want to have to show you, Daddy." Was he pouting? "But you keep getting in the way."

"I don't understand." I wanted to understand. "In the way of what?"

He took a fierce breath and called, "Momma, come here!"

Corinne scurried over from the dishwasher. "Yes, Grant?" She must have overheard us. She stood next to our son, blushing deeply.

"Momma, you need to show me again. You said what Ms. Coster did was bad, but you also said, when my pee pee got hard, I should feel good. Show me again while Daddy watches."

My wife trembled, looking at me as if I were a witchhunter. "Win?" She squeaked. "Grant asked me last night, and I panicked." She shifted on her feet, anxious. "I was still worried that Grant might never learn the difference between positive sexuality and emotionally harmful sex. I-I overreacted again."

Torn is only half of what I felt. I almost burst angrily at her, but Grant's presence and the extremely awkward situation regarding his sex eduction compelled me to stifle myself. I fumed, hoping that Grant would see that I could be very reasonable. Then I nodded so curtly I could have cracked a neckbone.

"I'm sorry, Win." Tears seeped out of my wife's eyes as she knelt before our son and reached her hands to his trouser button and zipper.

I took a heavy step forward before I stopped myself. "Grant, if your mother is compelling your questions, in any way, you need to tell me."

"No, Daddy!" He shouted. "Momma is doing what I tell her." Having said that, my son's angry cheeks softened. A pink blush replaced fierce red. His lips pursed and he couldn't meet my eyes. He looked down as his mother opened his trousers and pulled down his white cotton briefs. A hard, three and a half inch penis bounded into view.

Corinne's voice faltered. "It was wrong for Ms. Coster to do this, Grant." She gulped, trying to ignore my presence. "But sometimes penises react in odd ways to strange events, even dangerous ones."

"But it's not dangerous because you're doing it, right, Momma?"

"Win?" My wife unexpectedly foisted our son's question on me!

My jaw opened, as my brain raced fiercely to find the right thing to say. Was there a right thing to say? "Uh, not dangerous exactly, um, Grant. I believe your mother is acting with the best intentions..." I left the obvious 'but' dangling. I noticed something that distracted my anguish. While my wife was actively looking away from the stiff peter inches from her face, I was staring at it as if it might explode - like a grenade in a foxhole. Guilt washed over me.

"Erections, regardless of the circumstances, aren't something that men consciously control, Grant." Corinne's voice calmed after my half-acceptance of her actions. "That's why you never should feel bad about getting hard."

"Oh."Supposedly his mother had given Grant the same answer last night, but he acted as if he was hearing it for the first time. I think it was because he had thought of his next question. "When Ms. Coster put her mouth on it, that was bad?"

"Yes." Corinne nodded slowly.

I wanted to yell, Absolutely! But I suddenly understood why Grant couldn't talk to me. Whereas his mother acted carefully and spoke softly, I was too keyed up and spastic. Something about watching my wife kneel before our son and speak to his engorged member, shot an arrow into my back. So it felt.

"But, Momma, what if I had put my peter in her mouth first?" His next question burst from him like an epiphany.

"Huh?" My head tilted.

"Uh..." Corinne didn't have words.

Grant took the opportunity, his mother's mouth gaping, to demonstrate. He aimed his little stick and thrust his hips forward. Suddenly my wife's mouth was penetrated by our son's hard prick!

"Grant!" I did shout.

My boy jerked out of his mother's mouth and jumped back. He looked as if he was about to cry! "Daddy! I'm sorry."

"Winton!" My wife scolded. "Are you even paying attention? Our only child asked a perfectly honest question, and you exploded at him!"

"But, Honey-"

Corinne interrupted, turning away from me. "It's okay, Grant. Your father isn't angry. He was just surprised." Then she opened her mouth deliberately. "Please, Baby, you didn't do anything wrong." My wife left her lips open as a reassuring invitation.

Grant trembled while evaluating my threat.

I gulped, hating what I had to do. "It's okay, Grant. I'm the one who should be sorry." It was either that or leave the room. I didn't trust my wife enough to leave her alone with Grant in such circustances, as much as I wished to.

I should have been more concerned about what Grant would do. Gathering his courage, something my eight year old had stockpiles of, he stepped closer to his mother's face and inserted his hard penis into her mouth. "This really isn't bad, Momma?"

My wife couldn't speak well with several inches of dick in her wide open mouth. It not like she clamped her lips around it. The thought of which was making my penis hard. "Aoh, lrant. Ihs ohey." That should have been the end of it, but Corrine, like most of us, emphasized her words by shaking her head no.

"OOooh! Momma!" Grant cried out when his mother's cheeks patted the sides of his hard peter. The sensation excited him so much he grabbed his mother's head and pulled it to his hairless crotch. "I like it!"

Corinne coughed. I nearly burst out again, but I caught myself this time. "Let go of your momma." My voice was hoarse and thin. I'm not sure he heard me.

Base instinct must have kicked in when Corinne's arms flailed in opposite directions. She clearly wanted to push our son away, out of her mouth, but given how delicate the emotions at play were, she simply bear with the cock gagging her.

Fortunately our son was too young to choke her with his commensurately sized member, even when his hips began to hump his peter in and out of his mother's mouth! "I like it, Momma!" His face lit up with delight! He even flashed a happy grin at me.

I wanted to be happy for him, but I knew he needed to stop. I was also struck with the ridiculous notion that my son had been playing me from the start. "That's enough, Grant." I meant that he had fucked his momma's face enough, for the purpose of his question.

He only thrust harder against the head engulfing his excited prick. "I want more, Daddy." He frowned but continued to rape his mother's mouth.

"You have to stop." I said more forcefully, trying to not sound angry. "Your mother doesn't want you doing that. See her waving her arms?"

"I'm doing a bad thing?" His hips slowed. He moaned from the downshifted sensations of a mouth around his pumping erection.

"Would you like it if I jerked something in and out of your mouth?" I tried to reason.

"I don't know, Daddy. Are you going to do that with your penis?"

"Of course not!" I was exasperated, watching my son invading my wife's mouth and at the same time trying to teach him right from wrong! "Just stop, okay?"

A frown returned to his face. He halted his humping hips and let go of his mother's head.

She pulled back, fully away from his saliva coated penis. "Oh, Baby, you surprised, Momma!"

"I'm sorry." His frown deepened. Puppy eyes appeared. Suddenly his eyes expanded wider, as if frightened. "Momma, I-I feel-" His body trembled. "Like I'm gonna pee!"

"It's okay, Baby." Corinne continued to ignore me. My heart lurched, suddenly aware that my son was on the verge of orgasming! I couldn't speak. I could only hope that my wife would say the right thing! She took his wet pecker into her hand and held it firmly. "You're not going to pee. Just let it happen."

Of course I imagined that my wife was jacking off our son, but she merely held his trembling shaft as if to reassure him. It was his trembling in her grip that stimulated him. I gulped at the scene.

Grant abruptly cried out. "MOMMA- it feels- Aaahhh!" His hips twisted and lurched. My boy's hard penis slipped out of his mother's grip, as he danced from what I guessed was his first orgasm, a dry one as to be expected from an eight year-old.

I couldn't have made a worse guess, which I learned months later.

In my abrupt and great embarrassment, I backed away from the dining table and crept down the hall. Safe in my room, I dropped on the bed and wept. At one point I had to slap my own hand to stop it from reaching into my tented pants. I was two hours late for work that day.

That night, I was still too embarrassed to seek comfort from Corinne. She probably felt the same way. Perhaps a little distance for a few days would be best between us. Other than small-talk, my wife said only one thing regarding the morning's incident. "Grant really doesn't want you to help him learn about sex."

What choice did I have? Privately, I was incredibly relieved.

In the middle of the night, I had to find a different relief, from the pee in my bladder. Corinne wasn't in bed, and our bathroom door was closed. Assuming she was using it, I went into the hall.

Just as I was entering that bathroom, Grant cried out from his room. "Good Mommy!" He must have been talking in his sleep, but I was near bursting. Finishing my pee, and after washing my hands, I put my ear to his door. All was quiet within. I found Corinne lying under our bedcovers, curled up. The bed jostled slightly.

"Honey?"

The jostling stopped. "Yes, Win?"

"Grant cried out your name in his sleep."

"That's fine. I w-wouldn't worry about it."

"Okay." I kissed her cheek before climbing in from the opposite side.

"G'nite, Win."

I dreamed of the world shaking gently beneath me.

---

I think it was on a Thursday. I arrived home after a fruitful day at work, to an empty house. Corinne had left a note. She was shopping and would be back soon, but if I could start the oven and make a pie crust, she'd return with fresh cherries.

The pie was to be disappointed. Grant called me from his friend, Pablo's, house. "Hi Daddy. My bike broke. Come get it."

"Are you hurt?"

"No." He sounded okay, not even sad about his bike. It was probably a flat tire or something similarly minor.

"I'll be there soon." I took the car but was surprised that he wasn't waiting at the curb. I didn't even see his bike.

Pablo answered the door. "Uh, Hi, Mr. Densly. I'm suppose to show you the bike." He didn't sound happy.

"Where's Grant?"

"Uh, my room."

"I'd like to see him."

Unhappiness deteriorated into anxiety. "You probably shouldn't." He pressed a button on a panel. A metallic grating groaned from their garage's direction.

"Please, Pablo, I want to know what's going on."

He got angry. "Well - just don't blame me!" He opened the door wider, and I stepped inside. An odd sound pulsed from the stairwell.

I pointed up it. "Is your room that way?"

Pablo cringed, nodding.

I climbed quickly. The sound sharpened into regular cracks, as if a snapping turtle threatened.

"Please! No more, Maestro!" A woman's voice pleaded through a door near the top of the stairs. This time the crack sounded like a slap. The woman made a similar sound, "Ack!"

I opened the door and strode through, my helping nature taking control. It was clearly a boy's room. A poster of gaudily dressed and masked luchadores hung on one wall. A baseball bat and glove stood in a corner. The curtain pattern showed rocket ships and moons and stars. The room's chair had been pulled out from its desk, to the middle of a dusty, woollen rug. A heavyset, tan woman lay naked across the seat, her slack but thick breasts dangled, nipples nearly touching the rug.

Grant stood behind her, He raised a sandal in the air and was about to swing it downward when I entered. My eyes zeroed in on the woman's wide, fat behind festooned with sandal prints colored from pink to purple.

"Daddy!" My son exclaimed. He was fully clothed.

I halted, stunned by the scene. "Grant? Wh-what are you doing?"

Mrs. Minguez blubbered at my appearance. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't want to!"

"She was bad, Daddy!" Grant's raised arm vibrated as if he was deciding to spank the shoe against the heavy woman's ass one last time.

"Get away from her!" I opened my arms to him, trying to keep my cool.

Grant switched his eyes back and forth between me and Mrs. Minguez' naked, scored behind. His arm lowered, and the sandal dropped to the rug. Pouting from confusion, he ambled away from her but not into my arms. Passing me in the door frame, he grumbled, "I'm gonna ask Momma."

Mrs. Minguez staggered up and had to grasp the back of the chair to stand steady. She looked terrified. "Your boy- He-" She kept interrupting herself. "I didn't have-" Sobs took over her voice. I think she tried to say, "...a choice."

Honestly, I couldn't fathom any reason for what had happened here, but whatever it was, in a situation with a naked adult and a minor, it's the adult's fault."

The naked woman grabbed a blanket from the bed and ran choked with shame into another room. I could have stopped her, but I was too disgusted to touch Mrs. Minguez.

I remembered Corinne's caution about exposing Grant to a criminal investigation. I called her cell and related what I'd seen.

"She should be locked away, Win. I know, but at least she wasn't actively assaulting Grant." My wife surprised me, with a chuckle. "It sounds like it was the other way around."

I warned her, "He said he had questions."

"I'm dropping everything and heading right home." She ended the call.

Disgusted to my marrow, I marched to the Minguez garage and rolled out Grant's bike. The tires weren't completely flat, but it was unridable. Returning home, I exorcised some of my anxiety by pumping air into the tires. It was weird that they held the air. "Why didn't Grant just inflate them at Pablo's house?" I'd seen a pump in their garage. I blamed Mrs. Menguez.

Grant verified my final theory about what had happened. But not until after I caught him in his bedroom, spanking Corinne's ass with a folded magazine.

Like Mrs. Menguez, my wife was draped over his desk chair. She wasn't as naked. Only her behind was exposed, pants pulled down around her thighs. Despite her whimpers, the 'damage' to her bottom was visually superficial.

Grant halted his arm upon my entrance but showed me an angry frown.

Her voice breaking out of a whimper, Corinne warned. "He's in a state, Win. Let me handle it."

"Yeah." Grant growled. "Go."

I had never heard a boy growl like that -- grouse angrily, yes. His growl unnerved me.

I found myself in the hall, alone, and his door shut. I looked at my hands as if stained with blood. There was only grime from the bike. I went to the hall bathroom and washed. Then I went to make dinner. The cherry pie never materialized.

Grant finished his dessertless dinner and excused himself to do homework.

"Leave the table as it is, Win." Corinne took me by the arm and escorted me out back. In the fading summer light, fireflies glowing here and there, she explained.

"Grant found Mrs. Menguez in Pablo's room. She was naked, and he panicked. He told her that sex was bad and he was going to call the police, but he wouldn't if she let him punish her."

"That's incredible. You believe that's what happened?"

"I'm not sure." She folded her arms across her chest. Her serious demeanor softened. Her voice quieted. "Grant can be very pursuasive." It was the closest thing to a cry for help that she would give, and I completely missed it.

"I'll talk to him."

"Don't mention what you saw, er, afterwards." She scratched her forehead, in order to cover her downcast eyes.

"What the hell kind of question were you answering?" My frustration got the best of me.

"He wanted to know, blow by blow, why what happened was wrong?" As if to excuse her involvement, she whined. "I got him to use a magazine."

I stormed back into the house. At his door, I composed myself and knocked firmly but with measured pauses. "Grant?"

"Come in, Daddy." He didn't sound happy.

Entering, I took to the wall just inside of the door, my back resting against it. "You told your Momma a fib, didn't you?" I asked with a steady, calm tone.

He pouted.

"Mrs. Menguez's clothes were in another room." I remembered. "She lured you into that room and took off her clothes there, didn't she?"

His lower lip extruded like it had been run over by a truck.

"You knew better this time, and you got away. You went to Pablo's room, but he wasn't there."

Grant blinked with guilt.

"I don't know what happened specifically, but she wanted you to spank her, didn't she?"

My son gulped.

I began to cry. "Oh, my boy, I'm so sorry I couldn't help you. You did the best you could." I opened my arms and staggered forward. He got up from his chair and met me in a hug. I groaned over his head, miserable.

"Momma taught me good, Daddy. I knew Pablo's momma was bad. I didn't spank her because she asked. I spanked her because I wanted to get back at Ms. Coster."

His powerful insight impressed me. Grant was still struggling with the first assault upon him. Children rarely think deeply about their actions. I was suddenly, incredibly proud of my son.

I let Corinne believe what he had told her. I knew the truth, and it no longer mattered what had happened between her and our boy.

She wanted to make love that night. I denied her out of selfish spite.


-----


It was Sunday again, and I was puttering around the house, fixing dents in the drywall, replacing a gasket in the hall bathroom's sink, being the responsible home owner. Corinne ran the vacuum and then the duster around the house, and Grant played video games. I ran into each of them every hour or so.

I entered the utility room to fetch some duct tape. Corinne was bent over, sprawled on top of the dryer. Her pants and panties were down to her knees. Grant jumped away from her exposed behind, his pants and tighty whities lowered to expose his groin. My son sported a dry, firm erection. He was quick to declare, "I'm spanking Ms. Coster again."

"Win!" Corinne didn't sound at all hurt. "I didn't know he what he was going to spank me with."

"You should know better-" I aimed my alarm at my wife.

"Daddy, you have to go, or I won't learn anything!" He railed back.

Abruptly, I pulled out of the doorframe and shut the door. I rationalized that, because of his mother's lessons in positive sex, he had been able to avoid getting abused by Mrs. Menguez. At least, he had avoided trauma worse than a naked woman begging for a spanking. I thought, maybe Corinne was helping our son to overcome his ordeal at the Coster's home, by letting him spank her. I struggled to believe that. Perhaps, by using his hard dick, he was better able to revisit that terrible event, in order to exorcise it. I walked away, my dick upthrust in my trousers.

I held my wife accountable that night. I shouldn't have done it in bed. It set a bad precedence, but there hadn't been an earlier opportunity. "This is too much, Corinne!"

"I know!" She sounded as frustrated as I felt. "But you can't imagine how difficult it is to say no to him."

"Are you sexually aroused by our son?" I laid bare my greatest fear.

"Not at all!" My wife swore. "My love for Grant isn't any different than yours. I just can't stop myself from teaching him about good and healthy sex." She was convinced.

"You're a mature adult, Corinne. I've never thought otherwise until today. Are you telling me you dropped your knickers because he asked?"

"That's not what he asked." She glowered. "He wanted to know why we didn't spank him but all his friends' parents do."

"Gods, I hope not all of them do." I thought Americans were more enlightened these days.

"I'm sure he exaggerated. I told him that spanking was a poor way to teach children. He said he didn't want to teach anything, he wanted to get rid of his anger at Sally's mother. He pulled out his penis. It wasn't hard, at first.

"I told him to put it away, but he claimed that spanking Pablo's mom prevented her from doing something bad like Sally's mom. He said that you, my dear husband, didn't stop him from spanking me last time. He said it would be okay." Corinne caught her breath after exhausting it, trying to make sense of her actions.

Reminded that I had failed to intervene when Grant took a rolled up magazine to his mother's behind, I felt less sure of my standing. Today my son had shouted, "Daddy, you have to go, or I won't learn anything!" and I left him and my wife to continue his 'lesson.'

More confused than ever, I got up and padded in my pajamas, out into the hall. I knocked on Grant's door. "It's Daddy."

"I wanna sleep, Daddy."

I joked to myself, spanking is hard work. He and his mother had spent thirty minutes together in the utility room after my intrusion. My attempt at humor crash landed. "It's important that I talk with you, Grant. It won't take long." I entered my son's room.

He peeked out from under his pillow. "Huh?"

"Your mother isn't happy about what you did to her today." I wanted to express my own frustration, but suddenly that felt selfish. Somehow I'd work it into our talk. "Nobody likes getting spanked."

I could see his eyes reflecting the nightlight in his room, but his face was in deep shadow. "I worry that you liked spanking your mother."

"Is that bad?"

"Yes, especially if the other person doesn't want you to spank them."

"But Momma agreed."

"I know, Grant, but she did it out of love for you, not because she wanted a spanking."

"I love Momma too."

"Then don't ask her to do things she doesn't want. You respect my preferences, right?"

The pillow shifted behind Grant's head, and his face appeared in the dim light. He was frowning. "Go get Momma, Daddy. I'll talk with her."

Feeling like I had made a breakthrough, I nodded and returned to tell Corinne that Grant was going to apologize. She gave me the strangest look, as if I had failed her somehow. I didn't understand.

"If I'm not back in five minutes, you come get me. Don't knock." She said testily and left down the hall, leaving our door open.

I curled up on my side of the bed, yawning. Seven minutes passed before I looked at the clock. I got up yawning and stretching, then I padded back down the hall and peeked into Grant's room.

Corinne lay across the carpet on her back fully. Grant, also naked, kneeled astride her waist. His modest erection was rubbing through her cleavage. Corinne's medium sized breasts sagged in opposite directions over her sides. I don't know what cup size they were. The were most beautiful breasts I had ever kissed.

Alerted by the slow opening door, Grant spoke before I could utter a word. "You don't like me doing this, Daddy, right?"

"Of course not-"

He interrupted. "Momma, tell him."

"I wanted this to happen, Winton." My wife's words stabbed me. "That's why I told you to come get me." She spoke sincerely, but she looked unhappy. "You need to get use to finding Grant and I like this. I tried to tell you. I'm going to be his training partner, until he can tell the difference between loving sex and traumatic sex."

"Daddy, you lied. You said Momma didn't want me to spank her today."

Corinne had told me that she couldn't say no to him! Terrible doubts clouded my thoughts. I had assumed that she had wanted to tell him no. Tears dripped down my face. My wife wanted Grant to use her for sexual experimentation!

I stumbled backwards, retreating to my half of our bed. I lay feverish, not from infection but from my brain trying to solve an impossible situation. Should I call the police? On my wife? What if Grant blamed me? He seemed to have all the cards, and he was playing them for his own gain. I tossed and turned. Sleeping and lying awake merged into one reality. The thunderclouds in my head spit lightning across my brow. I yelled and my eyes flew open!

"Win?" Corinne was under the covers, to top of her nightgown covering her cleavage.

I felt a cool wind blow through my ears. The clouds parted and I finally understood what she had meant when she told me, "...you can't imagine how difficult it is to say no to him." Suddenly, I could imagine exactly how difficult it was. "It's okay, Corinne." I breathed heavily. "Everything's going to be fine."

My wife crawled beside me and put her arm around my chest. She snuggled warmly, closing her eyes. I remained awake for a long time.

When Monday morning grew bright in our room, I woke feeling oddly rested and completely at peace - if alone. Corinne must have started her day, and I was fine with going into work late again. I showered and dressed quickly. After a short march down the hall, I opened Grant's bedroom door. Corinne was showing him how to masturbate her pussy, with a model submarine. Beside her, on his bed, lay her favorite vibrator. It sported a small rabbit to tease her clitoris.

"That feels real good, Honey." His mother moaned, ignoring me.

Grant looked up from what his hand was doing. "Momma's toy is dumb, Daddy."

"If you say so, Son." I retreated to the hall, closed the door, and went to make breakfast for myself.

-----

Over the next few weeks, I caught snippets of their education focused relationship as it progressed from heavy petting to- Oops, I'm getting ahead of the story.

I threw a fit on the day I discovered them in the garage, my wife's mouth sucking my son's hard shaft, her head bobbing up and down. "She's cheating you, Grant!" I growled. "A truly great blow-job includes fingering your taint or better yet, poking a finger or two in your bottom hole and rubbing inside of it."

"Gosh, Daddy. Thanks!" He beamed as I got in the car and drove away. To safeguard their privacy I made sure to click the close button on the garage door remote.

I gave them credit for not using the main interior of our home to teach his lessons. Except for that first time, on the Monday morning after experiencing my epiphany, I didn't seek them out. But I wasn't going to avoid them if I had reason to be where they were conducting his positive sex studies.

His room, our room, the two bathrooms, our walk-in closet, the utility room, the garage, all were sufficiently private for their comfort levels. I remember looking for the right suit for meeting an important client. Corinne was hunched down, under her line of blouses. Grant rode on her back facing her rear. He was masturbating himself with one hand while the other prodded and twirled the sharp red tip of one of her dress shoes, in around her cunt. It glistened with her juices. She groaned submissively.

Another time, I heard Corinne in his room, encouraging our boy. "You can move it. I know you know how."

I opened the door, "Corinne, this list says to buy sauerkraut, but I don't want to buy the brand you don't like. Which brand should I get?"

My wife, naked on our son's bed, legs spread to allow him between them, turned her head to me and blushed. "Sorry, Win. Any of the organic brands are fine."

Young Grant's pelvis was pressed tightly against hers. His penis, likely hard, was no doubt buried in my wife's sex. He lay still upon her body, hugging her and sucking on a nipple.

Letters in list that Corinne had texted, blurred, as my hand shook the phone. "Grant?" I squeaked, unable to leave the scene, unlike all the other times.

My son turned his head from his mother's breasts and gave me a content smile. "It's okay, Daddy. I want to do it right."

Corinne gasp when our son withdrew half of his hard penis from her throbbing cameltoe. He slowly pushed it back into her. "Mommy?"

"Th-that feels - wonderful, Baby."

"I'm not a baby, Momma." He pulled back and thrust again, harder.

"Ungh! No, of course not, Grant. Not anymore, now that you're fucking for the first time."

Grant's hips moved his pecker a little faster in and out of his mother's weeping slit. "I like fucking, Momma."

"You're going to be a fabulous lover, Honey." She petted his hair. She craned her neck to kiss the top of his rocking head.

Rooted within the doorframe, I gaped at the scene. My epiphany returned, compelled by the act which proved, once and for all, the truth of it. I was officially something of, if not entirely being cuckolded by my eight year old son. The degree of which did not matter. All that mattered was the six inch tent in my pants. Watching Grant making love Corinne also proved that our son had run the full gambit of positive, life affirming sex. He was graduating right before my eyes.

The actors spared no further attention to me. Corinne began humping up against our son's downward thrusts. Her legs twitched as she moaned from pleasure and the knowledge that she had done her duty to teach her son the difference between healthy and harmful sex. He grunted longer and louder as he fucked his mother faster and harder. "Momma, it's so goood!!"

"Keep it up, Sweetie. Keep fucking Momma. You're going to make me cum so hard. I want to cum when you cum!"

"But, Momma," Grant's thrusting strokes maintained speed instead of increasing. "I can't cum yet."

"Orgasm, Silly. You know what Momma meant."

"Heh." He giggled. "I know. I'm gonna cum real hard too!"

My hand pressed the front of my pants, to flatten the tent in them by shifting my erection to one side. That's what I told myself. Actually, I was hot to masturbate while watching my son cuckold me. But I didn't dare do anything that might disrupt the wonderful moment between my wife and our boy.

"Momma! Momma! I'm starting to feel it!"

"Oh, please, Honey, I'm almost there too!" Corinne bucked upwards harder to intensify the pressure on her clit from his young penis.

In the few seconds before their mutual climax, I backed out of the room and stood around the corner. I waited there until their cries of joy sang out of my son's room and tortured my ears with their passionate music. As their song faded, I hurried to my room, unbuckling and unzipping my pants.

-----


The dictionary in our house defines cuckold as, "The husband of an adulteress." That's not much to go on for someone like myself who wants a definitive understanding. It's not like Corinne and I stopped having sex. I'm pretty sure she's now more interested in making love with me, than she was before Grant's lessons. And she's more lively in bed than she had been, but she had always been lively. I think having someone else to practice with has taught her new ways to enjoy sex, although I wouldn't recommend her method to other couples.

Also, pregnancy isn't yet possible from Grant's immature testicles. I won't be raising another man's child anytime soon. By then, I hoped Grant would find a real partner, someone closer to his age who is as precocious as he is about consent.

It's funny and sad how I finally accepted that my son was never to be denied any of his sexual desires. We still kept him from eating too many sweets and forced him to eat his vegetables, to keep his room tidy, and to study diligently for school. Yet when he told his mother to come to his room and suck his hard cock, she performed promptly, and if I were to catch them, I did my best not to disturb. Within the throes of my epiphany, I had invented the perfect rationalization. I was fated to be my son's cuckold!

If only the definition hadn't nagged for precision, I would have been a happier cuckold. Worse, I disliked what others meant by the word. I certainly didn't want to raise another man's child born from my wife's womb, especially not my son's child!

However, I was aroused by Corinne's cheating, especially because she was doing it with our boy. Go figure. I've stopped trying to figure it out and am just living each day, every so often catching my wife and son rutting madly behind one door or another. I once even caught them naked within the dense leaves of the apple tree in our back yard. "Tsk, tsk, tsk." Escaped my lips before I gave them privacy.

I stubbornly clung to my rationalization against all good sense or reason.

One Saturday or Sunday afternoon, I don't remember which, I was reading a story on my phone. Grant walked up to me. "Momma said I should use your phone." He held out his hand. I didn't ask the obvious question because it was obvious to me that doing so would allow him to shame me. My penis lurched in my pants when I heard him talking to person he called.

"Ms. Coster, you have to come to my house right now."
-
"I don't care, and you can't wear anything but a coat."
-
He hung up and returned the phone to me.

After less than twenty minutes our doorbell rang. "Don't get it, Daddy!" Grant raced out of his room. He unlocked and opened the front door. Sally's mother stood trembling, face red, wearing an ankle length trenchcoat and nothing else, not even shoes. Her eyes panicked at my presence!

Grant scolded. "Don't look at my daddy, you bad lady!" He grabbed her wrist, and small as he was, dragged her into and down the hall. I heard a door open and shut.

I stared at my phone for several minutes without recognizing anything on it. A text message pinged in my hand. It was from Corinne. "You need to clean up your side of our bedroom, Winton. We have a guest."

In a daze I stood out of my easy chair and shuffled down the hall. A voice cried out intermittently. In our bedroom, Ms. Coster's coat was draped over the back of my wife's dresser chair. She was perched hands and knees on my wife's side of the bed. Corinne lay resting her shoulders on the headboard, legs spread. Our guest's head bobbed between my wife's thighs. I heard licking, slurping and the resulting moans of pleasure.

Ms. Coster heard me enter, swung her head away from Corinne's pussy, and looked aghast. She screeched as if a rodent had scampered across the bed. There was only my son, walloping her pale behind with one of my belts. CRACK! "Don't stop being nice to Mamma!" He demanded. Ms. Coster squealed in pain, but she didn't obey immediately.

Something worse than pain compelled her to complain. "Please take that apple out of me!" The belt in Grant's hand hesitated. He tucked the bent end under her chin and frowned. She paled at his non-answer and dove back between my wife's wet loins. Sally's mother frantically resumed administering pleasure.

I walked easily then, strolling around the bed to my side. I began picking up: a pair of socks, a wadded but dry tissue, a book, and a few other items which I didn't remember leaving - except for the tissue.

The bed rocked, frequently interrupted by strong jolts each time my son whacked my belt across Ms. Coster's inflamed ass. "I'm gonna teach you about loving sex, you bad lady." He gulped and paused. "I mean - after I calm down by spanking you." He turned an unexpectedly guilty face to me.

I was placing the things I had gathered in their proper places, avoiding watching the scene but not avoiding seeing it. I happened to catch sight of my belt falling to the bed, behind our blubbering guest. I then couldn't not notice Grant opening his shorts and releasing his hard dick. Ms. Coster grunted from utter shame when he pierced her quivering cunt.

The sound of flesh slapping flesh, unhappy sobs, and my wife's beautiful, pleasure induced lilting, escorted me out of our bedroom. I closed the door and went into the hall bathroom to relieve myself.

I came into a clean washcloth, with an ecstatic rush and incredible satisfaction. The huge glob in my hand reminded me that I was my son's cuckold. I mustn't put my cum in his mother, my wife. I finally was understanding just how great of a cuckold I had become.

I am certain of one thing.

On the day when my son begins ejaculating real cum, I will finally learn my full status. Maybe - by that time, my son will have changed my mind about raising his children.



The End