The vibration started as a low buzz somewhere in the haze of their shared bed. Dan grunted, his face buried in the warm, intoxicating valley between Evelyn's sleeping tits. The buzzing persisted, insistent. It was his phone, discarded on the nightstand days ago, its battery a miraculous survivor.
He ignored it, nuzzling deeper. Her skin smelled of sex and sweat and her unique, musky perfume. The scent was his oxygen now.
The buzzing stopped. A minute later, it started again.
Evelyn stirred, a soft, displeased murmur vibrating against his forehead. Her hand, which had been possessively cupping the back of his head, slid down to his shoulder. "What is that infernal noise?"
"My phone," he mumbled, his lips brushing her nipple. It puckered instantly under the faint contact, a bead of sweet milk seeping out. He licked it away without thought. Mmm.
"Someone wants you," she said, her voice still thick with sleep but tinged with a new, sharp note. Not jealousy. Something more profound. Possessiveness.
"They can't have me," he said, his tongue circling the areola.
The phone buzzed a third time, rattling against the marble surface. With a sigh, Evelyn reached over him, her heavy breast pressing into his cheek. He heard her fumble, then the buzzing ceased.
"It's a 'Mark'," she read aloud, her tone flat. "He says, and I quote: 'Dude. Where the fuck are you? We've called like ten times. Game night at Leo's. You promised. Pizza's here.'" She paused. "There are three other texts. From 'Leo' and 'Chaz'. They seem… concerned."
Dan finally pulled his face from her chest, looking up at her. The morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across her concerned frown. "Tell them I'm sick."
"You are sick," she said, a slow smile finally touching her lips. "Sick for me." Her thumb stroked his cheek. "But they're your friends, Danny. From before." She said 'before' like it was a different geological era.
"They don't matter," he said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. The world outside this bedroom, outside her skin, was a gray, static-filled place. Nothing there could compare to the color and the symphony of sensation she provided.
Evelyn studied him, her blue eyes searching his. The dominant Mommy was fully awake now, assessing. "Call them," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Tell them you can't make it. Be polite. Don't burn bridges you might need later."
"I won't need them."
"You don't know that. The world is still out there, my love. Even if we never want to go back to it." She handed him the phone. "Do it. For me. Let me hear you choose us."
That sealed it. If it was for her, he'd do anything. He took the phone, the device feeling alien and cold in his hand. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. Evelyn propped herself up on an elbow, watching, her magnificent tits swaying with the movement.
He hit the callback on Mark's number. It rang twice.
"Dan! Holy shit, man, are you alive?" Mark's voice was loud, tinny through the speaker. In the background, Dan could hear the familiar sounds of video game explosions and laughter.
"Yeah, I'm alive. Listen, I can't make it tonight."
"What? Why? You've been ghosting us for, like, a week. Your mom said you were 'indisposed'." Mark lowered his voice to a mocking whisper. "You finally get a girlfriend or something? Some chick got you on lockdown?"
Dan's eyes flicked to Evelyn. A slow, wicked smile was spreading across her face. She liked that. Lockdown. She nodded, encouraging him.
"Something like that," Dan said, his voice dry.
"Well bring her! Leo's got that new co-op shooter. It'll be a blast."
"No," Dan said, more sharply than he intended. "It's not like that. She's… private. We're just… focusing on each other right now."
There was a pause on the other end. The game sounds faded slightly, as if Mark had walked into another room. "Focusing on each other? Dude, you sound weird. Is everything okay? Is it your mom? She seemed kinda… intense when I called the house."
Evelyn's smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. She reached out and took the phone from Dan's hand, putting it on speaker and setting it on the bed between them.
"Mark, is it?" she said, her voice smooth as silk, utterly composed.
A long, stunned silence. "Uh… yeah. Who's this?"
"This is Evelyn. Dan's mother." Her tone was polite, yet it carried an undeniable weight of finality. "I can assure you Dan is perfectly fine. He's simply entered a new phase of his life that requires his full attention. You understand how young men are when they discover their… passions."
Dan watched, mesmerized, as she effortlessly constructed a wall around their world.
"Oh. Mrs. Thorne. Hi. Uh, yeah, of course. We just missed him, is all."
"That's very kind. But he won't be available for social engagements for the foreseeable future. He's assisting me with a rather demanding private project. We appreciate your concern." Her words were a dismissal, elegant and absolute. "Have a pleasant evening."
She didn't wait for a reply. Her thumb, with its perfectly manicured nail, tapped the red 'end call' button. The silence that followed was profound.
She looked at Dan. "There. Bridge politely not burned, but the drawbridge is firmly up." She picked up the phone again, her fingers flying over the screen. She turned it to show him. She'd activated 'Do Not Disturb' and set an automatic text reply: 'Unavailable. Will respond when possible. -Dan.'
"Now," she said, tossing the phone off the side of the bed. It landed on the plush carpet with a soft thud. "Where were we?"
He was on her in an instant, his mouth claiming hers in a desperate, hungry kiss. She moaned into it, her hands tangling in his hair. "You chose me," she breathed between kisses, her hips arching up to meet the hard line of his cock against her thigh. "You told your world to go away for me."
"There is no world without you," he gasped, his mouth trailing down her neck, over her collarbone, toward the heaven of her chest.
"Good," she sighed, her head falling back. "Then let's make sure you never forget it."
What followed was a day that blurred into a continuous, wet, sweating, moaning fever dream. The outside world, with its calls and texts and obligations, ceased to exist. They were the only two people in the universe.
They fucked in the shower, the hot water sluicing over them as he bent her over the teak bench, pounding into her from behind until her squeals echoed off the tiles and her squirt mixed with the streaming water, creating a slippery, fragrant pool at their feet. Squelch. Slap. Slap. Gush.
They fucked on the kitchen island, amidst the abandoned breakfast dishes from days prior. She'd sat on the cold marble, legs spread, and commanded him to kneel and clean her with his tongue after her first orgasm, then pulled him up and wrapped those same legs around his waist, taking him inside her in one smooth, hungry motion. He came watching her tits bounce wildly, her nipples spraying thin arcs of milk with each jolt that hit the front of his shirt, making the fabric cling transparently to his skin.
They dozed, tangled together on the living room sofa, only to be woken by her shifting against him, her ass grinding back into his morning erection. He took her right there, half-asleep, in a slow, deep, possessive rhythm that built until they were both wide awake and screaming, her juices soaking the cashmere throw pillow beneath her hips.
It was during one of these hazy, satiated lulls, with Dan's head resting on the soft, warm plain of her stomach, that he felt the vibration again. Not his phone. Hers. It was on the coffee table, flashing.
Evelyn stiffened slightly beneath him. Her hand, which had been idly stroking his hair, stilled. She let out a long, slow breath.
"Who is it?" he asked, though he didn't really care.
"My attorney. The final retirement papers are ready. And… my former assistant, Clarissa. Wondering if I'd like to attend a farewell brunch with the board next week." Her voice was distant, clinical.
"Are you going?" The thought of her leaving their sanctuary, even for a few hours, sent a pang of irrational fear through him.
She was silent for a long moment. He felt the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Then her fingers resumed their motion in his hair, firmer now. "No," she said, the word definitive. "No brunch. I'll have the papers couriered here. I'll sign them in bed, covered in your cum." She shifted, looking down at him. Her eyes were dark, serious. "I meant what I said, Danny. I'm done with that life. This is my life now. You. This apartment. Our… habits."
She picked up her phone. He watched her beautiful face, illuminated by the screen's glow, as she typed. Her expression was one of serene finality. She hit send, placed the phone back on the table face down, and smiled at him.
"Clarissa will be disappointed. She always did have a bit of a crush on me." Evelyn winked. "But I have a much more interesting project to manage."
The isolation became absolute. The penthouse transformed from a luxurious dwelling into their personal den of depravity. Grocery deliveries were ordered for pre-dawn time slots, left at the service entrance with instructions to leave them there. Dan would retrieve them, scurrying back inside like a creature of the night, eager to return to the warmth and smell of her. Cleaning services were cancelled. They were the only mess that mattered, and they reveled in it.
A week after the call from his friends, Dan's phone died completely. He never plugged it in. It became just another piece of debris on the floor, lost under a pile of her discarded silk stockings.
Their days developed a new, twisted rhythm. It wasn't governed by clocks or sun, but by her cravings and his relentless need to satisfy them.
The focus of their play began to shift, deepen. The initial frenzy of discovery was settling into a profound, studied worship. And Evelyn, the master strategist, was planning her next campaign.
It started with a command, issued from her throne—which was currently his face.
"I want you to beg for something," she murmured, her thighs tightening around his ears. He was buried deep between her legs, his tongue buried in her asshole as she'd commanded minutes before. The taste was musky, clean, utterly hers. Schlick. Glrk.
He pulled back, gasping for air. "Beg for what, Mommy?"
She looked down at him, her expression a mask of benevolent control. "I want you to beg me to degrade you. Verbally. I want you to ask for the words. To tell me what you want to be called. What you want to hear."
A hot shiver, equal parts shame and desperate arousal, shot through him. This was new. They'd done things, filthy, physical things. But this… this was about the mind. The psychology she loved to explore.
"I…" he faltered, his cock twitching violently against the cool sheets.
"Use your words, my good boy. Tell Mommy what you need to hear to feel like the perfect, worthless slut you are for me."
The prompt unlocked something. A dam of dark, eager desire broke in his chest. "I want… I want you to call me your little cunt-pig," he blurted out, his face flushing. "When I'm eating you. I want you to tell me I'm nothing but a hole for your pleasure. That my only purpose is to drink your piss and your squirt and your milk."
Evelyn's breath caught. Her eyes sparkled with delight and something fiercer. "Oh, Danny… that's very specific. You've been thinking about this." She pressed his face back into her. "Okay. Ask for it properly. Beg."
He didn't hesitate. The words tumbled out, muffled against her flesh. "Please, Mommy. Please degrade me. Call me your pathetic cunt-pig. Tell me I'm worthless. Tell me I'm only good for licking your ass and swallowing your filth. Please. I need to hear it. I need to feel it."
"Good boy," she purred, and her voice shifted. It dropped, became harder, laced with a cruel sweetness that made his soul sing. "You are a pathetic little cunt-pig, aren't you? My own personal toilet. Look at you, grunting into my ass. You love this, don't you? You love being reduced to nothing."
"Yes!" he moaned, the words vibrating against her. "Yes, Mommy! I'm nothing! I'm your pig!"
"Then drink your dinner, piggy," she commanded, her voice husky. And she pushed down, holding him there, as his tongue worked her open, worshiping her most forbidden hole with slavish devotion.
The verbal degradation became a staple, a spice she sprinkled into their physical acts. She'd weave it into dirty talk during sex, her words a sharp, delicious counterpoint to the overwhelming pleasure.
"You take my cock so well, you desperate little whore," she'd gasp as she rode him, her tits swaying above him. "Is this all you live for? This fat cock splitting your Mommy's pussy open?"
"YES! FUCK, YES!" he'd scream, his hands gripping her ass, fingers sinking into the impossibly soft, jiggling flesh.
"You're my perfect, dumb fuck-toy. My breeding stallion with no thoughts except filling me up."
And after, in the sweaty, trembling aftermath, she'd always pull him close, her voice softening back to its normal, loving tone. "You were so good for me. My beautiful, perfect boy." The contrast was everything. The degradation made the tenderness feel like a prize he'd earned by surrendering everything.
One afternoon, she introduced a new game. She was straddling his chest, her dripping pussy poised over his face, but she wasn't lowering herself. Instead, she held a small, ornate hand mirror.
"I want you to watch," she said, her voice thick with arousal. "I want you to see what you are when you serve me."
She lowered herself slowly, until her swollen, glistening lips just brushed his. In the mirror she held angled above them, Dan saw it all. Saw his own eager, desperate face. Saw her perfect, pink cunt descend onto his mouth. Saw his tongue emerge, a pink, wet muscle, and lick a long, slow stripe up her slit. Schllllrp.
"See that?" she moaned, watching the mirror. "See what a hungry, messy little slut you are? Look at your face. You're in heaven, aren't you?"
He was. Seeing it, watching his own debasement from a third-person perspective, intensified it a thousandfold. He groaned, his tongue plunging deeper.
"That's it. Worship your Mommy's pussy in the mirror. Show yourself how much you love it."
He did. He fucked her with his tongue, watched his jaw work, watched her juices coat his chin, saw her clit swell and darken under his attention. The visual feedback was a drug. When she finally came, squirting a hot, clear fountain that splashed across his face and the mirror, the image was seared into his brain: him, drenched and victorious, being showered by his goddess.
Their isolation bred a creative, all-consuming carnality. He learned the taste of every part of her at different times of day. The sweet, thin milk from her tits in the morning. The saltier, richer cream from her pussy in the afternoon. The musky, complex tang of her ass after a long, lazy day in bed. He learned to distinguish the scent of her arousal from the scent of her impending squirt—the latter was sharper, more electric.
And he learned the depth of his own obsession. It wasn't just addiction. It was devotion. A religion where she was the deity and the sacrament, and he was the willing, groveling acolyte.
One evening, as they lay in a bathtub full of steaming, lavender-scented water, she traced the lines of his face. "We can't stay locked in here forever, you know," she said softly, though her eyes said she wished they could.
"Why not?" It was his constant refrain.
"Because even gods need supplies. And… I want to show you off." Her eyes gleamed. "Not to other people. Never to other people. But to… to the world itself. I want to take my perfect boy out and know that every woman who sees you is dying of envy, because they'll never know what you are. What you can do. And they'll never have you."
The idea was alien. Being outside, in the air, away from the scent of her that permeated every molecule of the apartment, was terrifying. But the possessiveness in her voice, the pride, sparked something new in him. A desire to be her trophy, as much as she was his.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," she echoed, smiling. "But first…" She slid down in the water, until her head was level with his chest. Her hands found his cock, which was already hardening under the water. "First, I think my good boy deserves a reward for being so perfect in our seclusion."
She took him into her mouth, under the water. The sensation was surreal, hot and wet and muffled. He could see her blonde hair floating around her head like a halo, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Gurgle. Slurp. Bubbles escaped her lips and rose to the surface. She came up for air with a gasp, water streaming down her face, and smiled up at him, his cock slick and bobbing above the waterline.
"My turn to worship," she said, and dove back down.
Later, damp and wrapped in thick robes, they stood together at the floor-to-ceiling window. The city glittered below, a vast, indifferent circuit board of light. Dan's massive, dried cum stain was still there on the glass, a ghostly, abstract monument to their passion. They hadn't cleaned it off. They liked it there.
Evelyn leaned her head against his shoulder. "Tomorrow," she said. "We'll go out tomorrow. Just for a little while. A walk in the park. A late dinner somewhere obscenely expensive where I can feed you under the table."
He felt a thrill of anxiety, but it was drowned out by the look in her eyes. She wanted to parade him. She wanted to own him in public, too.
"Okay," he said again, kissing her temple.
Her hand snaked inside his robe, finding his soft, spent cock. She cupped it gently. "But tonight…" she whispered, her lips brushing his ear, "tonight, I want you to fuck me like it's the last time. I want you to try and put a baby in me so deep, I'll feel you for days. I want you to breed me, Danny. And I want to scream so loud for my husband that I lose my voice."
She turned in his arms, her robe falling open, revealing the magnificent, heavy curves of her body, gleaming in the city's reflected light. Her eyes were dark pools of need, her lips parted.
"Beg for it," he heard himself say, the words surprising him. A tiny, tentative grasp at the dominance she'd taught him to crave from her.
Her eyebrows shot up. Then a slow, delighted, ferocious smile spread across her face. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
She sank to her knees on the plush carpet, right there before the window and the ghost of his cum stain. She looked up at him, her hands going to the tie of his robe. "Please," she breathed, her voice already ragged with want. "Please, Danny. My husband. My good boy. Fuck your seed into me. Breed your Mommy. Make me your wife in every way. I'm begging you. I need it."