One Night Only Ch. 02

Hey everyone. I got plenty of requests for a continuation of this story, so here's chapter two. Any thoughts and comments are appreciated.

----------------------------------------

"You thought I was coming with you?"

Yes. Yes, I did.

"But you know Mark has a big game tomorrow. I made that very clear."

His voice is cold. Just like ice that hasn't fully formed yet, but already makes you slip. His eyes are like starless night skies. I look forward, facing the long tall mirror next to my dark oak nightstand, and cold sweat runs down my back as I understand the fool I've made out of myself.

"And you think I'd let you go dressed like that?"

One after another, his remarks hit the spot. In a moment of determination, I've taken out a dress that goes back some years, black, that now is a bit tighter. But if felt right. My legs are still my best feature, long and smooth, perfect for black nylons and those four-inch spiked heels I was flirting with for a month.

"Dressed like a slut?"

Maybe it's the red lipstick that triggers him.

"Stop it. There's no need. I thought you would..." but I go silent, not having the energy of yet another fight. The door is open ajar, and I see his eyes shining brightly. Dark. Unlike mine or Steve's.

"No need? Is that what you told Antonio? It was all clear to me last week, Theresa. How could I have been this blind?"

Antonio. His name brings sin with it.

"What are you talking about?"

He doesn't turn his back to me, instead faces the wardrobe he just opened.

"When I had the injury. The moment my career was over, so did you find another one. Must have been, or else how do you justify Mark being a carbon copy of myself and that thing is a completely different breed?"

My chest hurts as he utters these senseless words. I look back at the door, but those sweet, fiery eyes are no longer there. Hopefully, he didn't hear a word.

"Don't you dare, Steve. Gilbert is your blood and bone. Same as Mark."

"But those brown eyes don't fool anyone, do they?"

He could have said that the thick member dangling between Gilbert's legs doesn't fool anyone either paternity-wise.

"You don't get it, do you? It was my dream, and the moment it was cut short, you cheat on me? Do you wanna tell me Gilbert is my blood?"

And, with the most truthful of the tears falling down my face, I tell him he is.

"For sure this didn't start last week, you must be thinking about that for god knows how long. The way you treat him so differently!"

"Mark is my reason to live! Not the other one. Gloomy, stinky, hairy! He should be out of this house already, making his own survival."

He closes the wardrobe, a string of spit falling from his lip. How did we get into this? Why do we hate ourselves so much? We were so happy, and then, that bloody accident, changed the world for us.

And Antonio changed the world for me.

"So you're not coming?" I ask again. "You said you would, you said you wanted to give us another chance."

And the sneer on his lips. Eyes of a moonless night. "You knew Mark has this game. You knew that. Are you sabotaging your own son? You know he needs me, Theresa."

I fight the tears back. For one week I've been dreaming of freedom, but all my attempts at flying were cut short. Gilbert looked different. The moment we got home, he changed. I tried to enter his bedroom but he told me that it wasn't fair on dad. Guilt. I've felt it too, I'm not made of stone.

To be fucked like a whore by your own son? But I'd trade my soul if needed just to be in his arms again. It was like he was avoiding me even, and that was the only reason I reached out to Steve.

"I'm not sabotaging anyone. What happened to us, Steve?"

"You know damn well. I never believed in all the whispers around uni, but maybe I should have."

And it is like having a wall of ice between us. The promise he made of coming to a dinner with my old friends, vanishes. It's like he's doing this on purpose again, another knife in the back, peeling layers of scars that should have been left alone. Antonio's name returns to his lips, and I just want to disappear.

Just like I did nineteen years ago.

It was three months after Steve's injury. Three long months of caring for him. I asked my mom to take Mark, and Steve was reluctant but he said I could go. Have fun, he said. Fuck me if I did.

Maybe that was the reason for me drinking a little too much. A few glasses of champagne, but the music was liberating. It was someone's birthday, and all my girlfriends were there, and we went out dancing. Antonio was there, we recognize each other from uni. He was always off limits, a friend of Steve. Until the moment he grabbed my hand, as we danced a slow song. I was tipsy, silly, and horny. No sex since Steve's accident, just anger, fury, and guilt. And with Antonio, there was nothing of that. Only his strong arms and chest, and a cock hard against my leg, and then the back of his car, with him deeper than anyone else in me.

"Take that lipstick off. If you dress like a slut, you're no better than them."

And before he leaves, holding the door in his hand, he still has something else to say, yet another knife to flesh my heart out. "Because I swear to you, Theresa, you leave this house tonight, that son of yours will be sleeping in the streets, like the dog he is."

His absence warms up the room, and I hide my face between my hands. The mirrored image is of someone who's been defeated.

"He's right, isn't he?" I say to myself, my breasts are suddenly not sexy anymore, they are just two big bags hanging lower, only supported by my bra and dress. The lingerie I bought specifically for this occasion now doesn't feel right in my body, it itches, and I just want to rip it all off. The sheer black nylon stockings with the garter belt just hurt my skin now. "Well done, Steve," I keep talking to myself, all alone in that sexless bedroom, "you managed to drain every single drop of lust from me."

I text my friends saying I'm not going with them anymore and ignore their replies. I don't have to read it, I know what they'll say. I suppress the tears, but not without making some damage to my make-up, and now I look like a slut, no doubt Steve would say, with that black trace down my cheek. "Fuck it."

Mark and Steve talk loudly in the corridor, laughing, as they get ready to leave the house for their nightly run. If only Steve gave me a tiny drop of his affection for Mark.

I should have changed to more comfortable clothes, I think to myself, as I open the bottle of wine I had reserved for a special occasion. The red color pours nicely into the glass, and I bring it to my lips. And to think he threatened to throw Gilbert out of the house.

"Gosh, what am I doing?" I say out loud, drinking the wine in one go. "I can't stay with him any longer."

And heavy footsteps show behind me, and Gilbert looks at me from the corridor and sees me under the white kitchen lights. His eyes are a dark brown, just like his father's, and I remember being lost in his arms just last week. A capital sin, unforgivable, which just adds more wood to the fire that Steve so surely wants me to burn in.

"He doesn't deserve you," he says with the kindest voice I've ever heard of him. His Adam's apple moves up and down, and he is simply dressed, with his white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His ever-so-present bulge remains in plain sight, big enough to scare his brother and borrowed father.

"Oh Gilbert, how much of that did you hear?"

He walks calmly towards me and grabs my hand. "I heard everything, Mother."

Gilbert wraps me in his arms, bringing me closer to his chest, his heart beating steady, strong as a bull. He hums something, and all I hear is a strong vibration through his lungs, resonating inside me. Maybe it's the wine, but there's a fire spreading through me, starting in my stomach, and my body reacts to his strong presence like ice melting under the scorching sun.

"Come," he says, taking the bottle with us. I follow him, my small frame behind, and a turmoil of different thoughts. He enters my bedroom, keeping the lights off. "Fuck you look so pretty," he says, before towering over me with a kiss, right on my red lips.

I don't have time to say a word. And I don't want to. I missed him so much during this week that after all that my husband said to me, this makes everything right.

"So fucking pretty," he repeats, and his lips are red from my lipstick. He is holding me with one arm, that is anchored in my ass, pressing me tightly against his warm and large erection. With the other, he drinks directly from the bottle, I can see a big gulp traveling down his throat, and then he pours it straight into my mouth.

Another kiss and our bodies rub one another. All the words Steve said to me are now flushed with the wine, as my breasts regain new life, as my lips engorge, and as I remember my son's first time.

His innocence is nowhere to be seen, and I have no doubts he is a true man. He kisses down my neck and then pours more wine into my mouth.

"You'll get me drunk," I say, in a silly voice, for a moment forgetting that is exactly what I want.

"You're safe with me. I won't let that man hurt you anymore."

"He's your father. He just wants what's best for us all."

Even I didn't believe my own words.

Gilbert takes off his shirt and leads my hand straight to his cock, and my heart stops. "He's not my father. Even if he was, I couldn't forgive him. Get on your knees mom, I want to see that lipstick on my dick."

For a moment I'm taken aback by his tone. His sweatpants fall to his ankles, and his cock comes to life before my eyes, and before I have time to react, he places both hands on my shoulders, and I come down to my knees.

Fuck, I was needing this more than I realized.

He holds my head steady, a hand weaved on my hair, and his throbbing thick cock has a life of its own. He gets my mouth closer, allowing his precum to coat my lips.

"You need that, don't you?"

I look up, to see this real man smiling down at me. Another gush of precum catches me by surprise, and he pushes my head in. My mouth opens up around the head, and I open as wide as I can, obeying his commands. He is gentle, making my head bob back and forth, and making a soft groan each time my tongue swirled around the inflamed head.

Oh, I needed this alright. The blowjob queen, some would call me, but it's not as easy to ride a bike. At least, not a thick one like his. He erases all men from my memory except his real father, as I conquer more and more of his cock, my lipstick getting a new mark on his skin.

"You're good at this," he says, holding my head in place and then pulling it back, allowing me to breathe.

"I need more," I say, without thinking, trying to return to his penis and catch that precum string again.

But he smiles, picking me up in his strong arms, and taking me to the bed. He lays me down on my back, and comes on top, crushing me under his weight.

"I'll give you more, don't worry. I'll treat you just the way you want."

Like a whore. I don't need love, I need desire. I need someone to show me I'm still a human being.

He kisses down my chest, each hand grabbing a different part of me, and I can feel his cock poking against my dark lace lingerie, getting me wetter and wetter. I'm a puddle of desire, and my arms try to wrap around his big body, my nails digging into his arms.

And my mouth missing him.

Gilbert starts to unravel my dress, takes each strap down my shoulder, and reveals my large breasts. "So pretty," he repeats, before plunging down, sucking on them. I forget about everything, and I ignore the pang of guilt for being used by my son in my married bed. It doesn't matter, I repeat to myself, and his repeated thrusting against my pussy is driving me crazy. It's a lake down there, and my body is more than ready to take Gilbert once again, but he teases me, denies me what I need the most, and instead, he sucks on my tits.

"Is it true that during pregnancy your breasts are much bigger?"

But my mouth is open, but I can't speak, because his cock is pressing against my open pussy, the only thing holding the fort is my lingerie. But my orgasm is coming, in waves, my muscles tensing, my throat closing and he knows it, he is doing it on purpose.

"Answer me, Mother, for sure I'd love to see you like that, I want to suck on your tits all the time."

Devil. I close my eyes, and all I can think about is... nothing. My orgasm hits me hard, as Gilbert continues to rub his animal-sized cock over my panties, making me feel desired more than anything.

He holds on to me as I muffle my screams on his chest. Then, he pulls my dress up, revealing all the extensions of my sexy undergarments, and I can see him whistle, while his cock shoots another stream of precum.

"All of this for me? Mother, you shouldn't," he says, with an evil grin on his face, and kneels before me, pulling my body towards his mouth, my legs across his shoulders.

"Wait, Gilbert, your father should be -"

"We have time. Besides, he never comes to your bedroom."

And with this, he buries his face on my panties, and his tongue opens me up, destroying my lingerie in the process, and bringing me to the brink of collapse one more time.

He doesn't say a word, only works me up until I'm begging for more.

"Take me already, I can't wait any longer."

But he can. "You gotta beg more than that. Show me what you are," he says, and his teeth pull on my garter belt. He continues by kissing my legs, inhaling my stockings, and kissing all the way up to my spiked heels. "You sure dressed in the way I like."

"You like it?" I ask, with a shy tremulous voice, as he rubs my clit. How can he be in so many places is beyond me, but my back is arching as he inserts his thumb inside my pussy.

"I love it. Wanna fuck your brains out. Dad should be here in ten minutes, I'm sure you can beg for a quick fuck? Or you rather wait?"

I push my pussy against his finger, rolling my eyes back, whispering words for him to fuck me. Just like the whore I want to be.

"Fucking hell," he whispered, in a low gruntling voice, spitting on my cunt, and positioning himself at the entrance, my legs over his shoulders, his frame towering over me. "You should see the view from here, Mom."

And he goes in, without a single word. My universe collapses as he enters me, my son, my most precious thing in the world, defiling sacred ground. His cock fills me up more than ever anyone else did before him, and his precum leaks out of me, I can feel it dripping already as he pushes everything aside.

His breath on my neck, his hairy chest against my smooth skin, his balls hitting me hard and fast. I bite him so hard that I can taste his blood, as he pushes deeper than anyone else.

My lips grip his member. His sweat drips on my body, and the bed moves as he enters me deeply. My moans travel free, as the intensity increases.

"Fuck, I'm close. Turn around," he ordered, and I don't have time to think, his big hands turn me on my stomach, and he lifts my dress, let a strong string of spit join us, the cold against his scorching hot rod, and enters me from behind. Hands travel up to my breasts, holding them hard, whispering words in my ears.

"Cum for me," he tells me, teeth bitting onto my flesh, his body so close to mine. My son, oh my dear son, fuck me like a whore, make me forget about your father's words. Make him regret hating you.

All the words I thought of saying turn into mush as my drool soaks the pillow I'm muffling my screams in. And it hits me, stronger than anything yet. A warmness. A flow like lava, filling my womb, a guttural grunt, gargantuan geyser, an ejaculation so powerful I felt it drip from the sides of my open cunt, while I melted onto him, fused into one single soul.

Steve is home five minutes after. Gilbert is sitting in the living room, just in shorts and a tank top, like his brother. But, unlike his brother - or stepbrother, if you believe Steve, his muscles are not as toned, and his figure is not as symmetrically shaped, or his bum is not as perky. But what he stores between his legs beats them both several times.

He finds me in the toilet, clearing my face from the makeup. I wonder if Gilbert removed the lipstick from his lips because I know he didn't from his dick.

"Still doing that? Mark needs to sleep."

"I'm not stopping anyone from sleeping."

In his eyes, suspicion. In my pussy, the confirmation of his thoughts. I put an extra pad in my panties to avoid any leakages. In a way, there is a guilt as I talk to Steve about tomorrow, laying on my bed, turning off the light. But that guilt is quick to go away as he leaves the bed to check on his real son.

Another night sleeping alone.

Reading the pages of an old novel doesn't make me as sleepy as I wanted, and I end up getting some water from the kitchen. Inside me, the soreness of a good fuck, and the happiness of being used.

Even if that means used by my son.

On the way back to my room, the design of the house makes me stop at the doorway of Mark's room. The door is closed and underneath it, there's a darkness. Silence. I wonder if Steve is already back in my bedroom, warming up my cold bed, and by opening the door ajar I have the confirmation that no, he is sleeping with his son.

This anxiety started when Mark turned nineteen and won his first tournament. The joy in his father's eyes, the protection, the need to do everything to make sure Mark is at the top of his game. And Steve realized, very well, that he was living through his son.

And there was a day I told Steve I thought he was exaggerating. That he needed to live his own life and get back into our dream as a couple. It became the first time that Steve hinted at the fact that Gilbert wasn't his son.

How many years can a lie live?

They are sleeping peacefully, the bed being smaller than our married one, with only space enough for the two to sleep side by side, Mark's arm going over his dad's body, only shorts on. After closing the door again, I hesitate into entering my bedroom and, instead, go check on Gilbert, the sleeping giant that caused my soreness.

He makes me feel alive again. He doesn't probe, doesn't ask questions, doesn't throw me down just for spite. He loves me in a way a man loves a woman. Pure animal instinct.

I call his name in a whisper and his cock throbs. Hard, large, just covered simply by the bedsheet. The word repeats on my lips, and again, he throbs, and the dim light from outside shows its shadow, precum flowing in the tip as if my voice is enough to prepare him for me.

I enter the smaller bed and, just like my husband, wrap myself around my son. Gilbert opens his eyes and smiles.

"I missed you," he says, dim dimples showing on his face, an arm around my back, as my body touches his.

"I missed you too," I say, looking for his lips.

He grabs me in his big arms and pushes me on top of him. My breasts flow freely inside the nightgown and get crushed against his chest, while his cock is trapped between my legs. There is only a thin layer between us.

My hands go across my back, feeling my ribs, down to my ass. Gilbert grabs it with need, showing me how he wants me again, for the second time in the night.

"Is Dad sleeping with Mark?" he asks, knowing the answer already. His tongue enters my mouth, and he pushes his body harder against mine, thrusting his member. The way it rubs against my pussy makes it even better, warm waves of lust.

His fingers slide to the side, and I understand his intentions in a heartbeat.

"I wanna make you all mine," he whispers, and in one go, he gets me on my back, and comes over me, legs up, tongue down.

"Please, Gilbert, they are just in the other room."

"So you better be quiet, Mom," he says, spreading my legs open, and eating me again, like the main appetizer I become.