21 comments/ 72482 views/ 137 favorites Viral Sensation By: g00db0i Another incest story! These are surprisingly popular. A semi-long read, includes elements of mental change, mother-son sex, body modifications and expansion, sundry other unrealistic stuff. If that's not your bag, kindly don't complain to me that you opened somebody else's bag. ***** "...musculoædificatiarius facerefecund (colloq. "MF virus") virus," read the CDC report, "is a highly-contagious pathogen originating in the Eastern Seaboard; incubation period can last up to three weeks from first infection, followed by rapid onset of intense flu-like symptoms, including high fever, nausea..." Daphne Ryerson skimmed downwards, flipping the page as her car idled. "...attending physician reported that over 95% of patients with a high viral load experience overactive pituitary and high endorphin levels..." She brushed a disobedient strand of silky brown hair out of her face; it had fallen out of her rather severe ponytail. "...symptoms were most exaggerated in male patients, aged 18-25. Treatment options include..." She glanced at the front door of the Faculty of Science building. Where was he? Daphne's lips, painted a dramatic dark red, curled up in a sneer. She rolled up the photocopied pages into an untidy, ragged tube and tossed it into the backseat. If that boy thought he could just *call* and pull her out of a damn hospital board meeting on a *whim*, then he had another think coming; she was going to- The passenger car door opened and her son, Jack, slid in. He was white as a sheet. Before he even had his seatbelt on, Daphne dropped the clutch and roared out of the firelane in front of the building. "And where were you, young man?" She snapped, speeding through a yellow light and onto the freeway. With a free hand, she tugged the hem of her skirt down; it rode up again as she shifted gears, climbing up her smooth, tanned thigh. "I'm sorry mom," Jack said, in a shaky voice. "I swear, I was waiting right there by the door, and then I had to go and- and-" he burped, and his mother glanced over. His pallor was giving way to an unhealthy green, sweat breaking out across his brow. "I had to go get sick again." The college senior grimaced, then laid his head back against the headrest. "I *sincerely* hope you did," she said, frowning as she dodged around a minivan that was only travelling five or ten above the speed limit. "In fact, you had better be dying of cholera; you can't just call me every time you get a tummy ache, Jack. You're not in grade school." Daphne took a sharp right, exiting the freeway. "You know you pulled me out of a hospital board meeting? There's some kind of a new bug going around and we need to make sure we have the protocol in order before-" gearing down, she reached over and pressed a wrist against her son's forehead. "Jesus, Jack. You're burning up. Did you go to school like this?" "I felt a little queasy," her son said. He began to shiver. "But nothing like this. Is the AC on? I'm freezing." "I bet," Daphne maneuvered herself out of her cardigan and handed it across the car. "Here. Wrap this around you." Jack did as he was told and closed his eyes while his mother told him off for spreading infection around and making the university sick, wheeling around another right hand turn so fast it set his head spinning. "Mom," he said, "if you don't slow down, I'm going to-" the rest of his words were lost in a *basso* belch. "Not in my car, you won't." She shot him a look. "Don't be a baby. We're almost home. Hold on." Moments later, the car took a sharp left then came to a stop. Daphne's glossy nude pumps clacked loudly on the asphalt as she strode around the back of the car to retrieve her purse from the trunk. As she reached inside, a querulous voice called out from across the road, "home for lunch, eh? A little afternoon delight?" Old Man Crawley was leering from his usual perch, an ancient rattan chair on the front patio of his house. Daphne's white pencil dress was stretched taut across the broad, muscular globes of her ass, horizontal pinstripes clearly delineating her dramatic curves, measuring out a contour map of her body, sculpted from hours spent on the gym equipment installed in her basement when she wasn't at the hospital. She straightened up, shouldering her purse and putting one hand on her hip, just below a very trim waist, wheeled around to face the geezer on the other side of the street. Without a word, she gave him one well-manicured finger, then strode over to the passenger side of the car, and opened it. Jack slumped in his seat, moaning in a low voice. "Can you stand?" Daphne asked, watching her son struggle to undo his seatbelt. Leaning inside the car, Jack would have gotten a good eyeful of her fulsome bosom as it pressed against the clingy jersey of her dress, if he hadn't been semi-conscious. As it was, she undid his belt, and hooked his arm over her shoulders. Together, they half-walked, half-dragged themselves into the house. She could feel the heat radiating from his body; his clothes were damp with sweat. "You are going straight to bed," she said. "Then we'll get some Tylenol into you and fluids; if that doesn't bring your fever down, we'll try an ice bath. I am *not* hauling you back across town to the hospital today." Jack just nodded, then burped, then groaned. They stumbled into the house and up the stairs, which took an agonizingly long time, as Daphne had to occasionally stop to nag her son back into the real world and out of his fevered fatigue. Eventually, she nudged his door open with one pointed-toe pump; a cat in a bow tie and round spectacles stared down at her from a poster on the door, making an H20 joke from behind a chemistry set. As she helped him onto the bed, another poster above the bed declared his allegiance to Tyson/Nye. A stack of library books balanced precariously on the edge of his desk, next to his opened laptop. "Well," she said, standing up, surveying the room. "At least you cleaned up in here like I asked." Daphne tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear, and stood over her son, arms akimbo. "Now, you get in the bed, and I'll be right back." Jack looked back up at her with faraway eyes, but nodded. His mother wheeled about on one five-inch heel, and strode back down the stairs. When she returned, several minutes later, bearing an electronic thermometer, a tall glass of water and some painkillers, he hadn't moved much, if at all, and he certainly hadn't gotten *in* the bed. Daphne clucked her tongue. "What did I tell you?" She said, laying her load down on his desk. "Get *in* the bed." "Mom," Jack mumbled, "it's all so sore." She rolled her eyes. "It's just a stomach bug. You're feeling the effects of dehydration if you threw up all over the university. Undress and get in the bed, and we'll get some water into you." Jack made some weak movements to do as she asked, but he wasn't moving fast enough for his mother. Her phone, a five inch lozenge tucked into a pocket in the front of her dress, buzzed. Daphne pulled it out and tucked it between her shoulder and her ear as efficient, clinical fingers lifted her son's shirt out of his waistband. "Ted?" She said, yanking Jack's sweat-damp polo off him. "Yes, I'm home now. How did the meeting go?" Daphne tossed it aside. Her son's skin was slick with moisture, and paper-white, but there was no stink of sweat. "They what?" She worked at Jack's belt. "How could they not accept *any* of the guidelines? That came straight from Atlanta!" His jeans came unbuttoned, and she hooked her sharp fingernails into his belt loops. "You're right. It's not particularly lethal. Yet." Jack lifted up his hips with a soft moan, and his mother worked the pants down over his legs, struggling against the dampness. "Well?" She dropped them next to his shirt. "I, for one, would like to get ahead of it before anyth-" Daphne's breath caught in her throat. She stared down at her son, clad only in his black boxer briefs. An obscene, swollen lump pulsated beneath the cotton fabric, a thick black tube tucked to the left, some nine inches long at least. A damp spot the size of a quarter grew around the end of it. "What?" She said, coming back to her senses. "T-Ted, I'll have to call you back shortly okay? I'm just looking at- after my son at the moment." Standing again, Daphne peeled back the sheets with embarrassed haste, then covered the object of her attention with a flap of the bedcovers. "Jack, I'll be- I'll be back in a bit to check in on you." She took a step back as he regarded her, nodding. "Try to- try to drink some water," she placed the glass next to his bed, "and take the Tylenol. That'll bring your fever down." "Sure mom," he croaked, seeming more himself already. "And try to get some sleep," Daphne instructed, backing away. "It'll probably do you a world of good." "Sure mom, sure." Jack said, rolling over. She exited, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, heart pounding. Where on earth had he gotten such an enormous co- penis? "Certainly not from his father," Daphne said, heels clicking against the floor as she went back downstairs. The further she got from the door the less she felt like going back, peeling away the sheets, and looking, just to be sure that it was really what it looked like, and not some illusion borne of Jack's underwear. Her phone began to ring again. "Speaking of enormous dicks," she muttered, before answering. "Ted? Yes. Listen-" It took at least an hour to properly wring her deputy out, ensure he felt correctly bad about letting the hospital board walk all over him, elicit promises to draw up a quick and dirty epidemiological projection for the MF virus, should it get out of hand, and collect apologies for his misbehaviour. When she was satisfied, Daphne hung up and headed back upstairs, towards her own bedroom, unfurling her hair from its confines, shaking it out into a silky brown fan across her back. Passing by the stare of the scientist cat posted to Jack's door, she stopped a moment, and opened it a crack. Immediately, she was struck by the smell; the room was rank with a musky, animal scent that made her nostrils flare, and brought a flush to her cheeks. "Jack?" She called softly. "How are you feeling?" No response. His breathing was heavy but steady. His glass was empty, and the painkillers were gone. Daphne stepped inside. Approaching his bed, she saw that he was sleeping, as she'd suggested. His hair, the same colour as hers, was plastered to his forehead; gently, she bent low to kiss him. His skin was warmer than usual, but the fire that had burned below it was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief at that. If it had gone on much longer, they'd have ended up at the ER that evening. Maybe she was a little hard on him, but you only got anywhere in life by being driven there, even if someone was doing the driving from behind. But look at the results! Head of his class in highschool, fast-tracked to graduate school: one of his professors was advising him to skip his Master's entirely and go straight for a PhD. Daphne glowed with pride and kissed his brow again. And such a good boy, to boot! Polite, well-mannered, never a rebellious phase or making trouble with his nerdy friends. Here, close to Jack, the aroma was stronger still, and Daphne breathed deep of it. It felt good to be so near to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body; one of her hands slid along his arm, caressing it through the sheet. It was warm, and...thicker, somehow? A dizzying wave of warmth spread through her body, and she was struck by the urge to peel away the bedsheets, and slip into the bed behind him. Maybe in front of him, curl into his warmth. Was he still hard, she wondered, thinking of that thick black tube, straining against her son's underwear- Daphne stood, the flush in her face giving way to a ghastly pallor; she backed away, into the hall, and shut the door behind her. Her legs were unsteady in the tall heels as she stumbled into her own room. She kicked them off and into the closet while fumbling fingers worked to release the clasp at the nape of her neck. The zipper at the back came undone with a rasp and she shrugged the dress off her shoulders, wriggling her hips to work the tight jersey down over her curvaceous rear end. Her nipples, thick and brown and standing proud from heavily cantilevered breast flesh, were highly visible beneath the creamy lace meshwork of her bra. "Oh fuck," Daphne breathed as she scooped one tit free of its cup and pulled hard on the nub. The scent of aroused pussy wafted up from between thick, sculpted thighs, and she didn't have to reach down to know that the gusset of her matching thong was probably soaked through. "Fuck," she said again. Had it really been so long since she'd seen a truly impressive cock that even her own son's had this effect on her? Not even seen, just inferred, *suggested* by the obscene distortion in his underwear. Daphne was no size queen. Charles' own average equipment had been perfectly adequate back when she was just an older man's trophy wife, and it still was when they managed to coax some life into it, an increasingly rare occurrence as he slid into his sixties. Even as their sex lives waned, she hadn't developed any particular hankering for cock, not even big cock, pouring herself instead into her job, rising through the ranks of the hospital's internists until she became the top dog last year at the hitherto unprecedented age of 42. But she had to admit, in the dark evenings as Charles snored gently beside her, or as she worked some Tuesday overnight shift, she'd often thought about what it would be like to have a truly fat cock up inside of her. Some thick young ramrod available at her beck and call, accommodating her weird schedule and odd hours. Not a boyfriend to cheat with, but a boy toy to use for her pleasure. A risky proposition. "Fuck," she said, fingers sliding into her panties. Why couldn't she stop thinking about Jack? Was it just because she hadn't seen an erection, a real erection, for almost a year now? She was a fucking discipline chief, she didn't need cock. A whimper escaped her lips as wet, squishy noises emanated from between her legs and a bead of fluid dribbled down her thigh. It was just stress. All she needed was a little relief and everything would go back to normal. Her forearm worked in and out as she tried to forget the lump in her son's briefs, refocusing instead on one of the handsome young interns who was a little too familiar. What did he wear under his scrubs, she wondered, collapsing back onto the bed, index finger strumming her clit. Briefs? Boxers? Boxer briefs? Did his cock stand out like a taboo fuck-obelisk, drawing the eye like a magnet? With her free hand, Daphne fed her freed nipple into her mouth and slurped noisily at it; $200-manicured nails flashed as she whipped her fingertips up and down the slippery valley between her labia, travelling between the dripping orifice between her legs and her clit in a hasty blur. What would it even feel like? Would it hurt? Would it stretch her wide open as it was slammed home into her needy, under appreciated pussy? What did it look like? Was it smooth and straight or veiny and curved? Would he fucking flip her over and take her from behind like some kind of animal and just start pounding away at her clasping cunt? Daphne gasped and grunted and arched her back, lifting her ass up off the mattress. Her index and middle fingers pistoned in and out of her squelching, leaking pussy, palm slapping hard against the angry nub of her clit. "Fuck," she grunted around her own nipple. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" A low, animal growl started in the pit of her stomach, growing in volume and intensity as her hand slammed harder, harder into herself. "Make me cum, motherfucker! Make. Me. Cum!" Daphne's toes curled, and her heels dug into the duvet as her body went rigid, arched in ecstasy as her orgasm washed through her. She squeezed her eyes tight and ground the heel of her hand into herself, desperately wanting to ignore the image of Jack's covered cock, even as it persisted in her mind's eye. Suddenly, it was over, and she collapsed back into the bed, grunting as she did. "Fuck," Daphne said with a sigh. "I fucking needed that." -- Later that afternoon, Daphne was using the kitchen counter as an office, reading email on her laptop while refreshing a different account on her phone as the kettle boiled. The cardboard tag of an herbal tea bag dangled from the side of an oversized mug. She'd dressed down - into a pair of cropped yoga pants with a pink-washed static pattern and a white racer back tank - but there was no taking off her work hat. A steady stream of advisories and updates washed into her inbox as clusters of MF infections cropped up, usually in post-secondary campuses; though no fatalities had yet been recorded, CDC was recommending quarantine procedures for certain sites without really stating why, except as a "precautionary measure." That made it a hard sell to the senior hospital execs, particularly since the disease this far had confined itself to otherwise healthy young men, not a traditionally vulnerable population, or one likely to succumb to secondary complications. Daphne frowned and stood up on her tiptoes, stretching the aching muscles in her calves; the hour or so she'd spent on the elliptical downstairs had only let the shitheads in the board fossilize their opinion about whether this was even a crisis. "Never should have left that meeting," she muttered, as the kettle sang its song. Behind her, Daphne heard the soft pad of bare feet on the tile. "So you've arisen from the dead, have you?" She said without turning around. "How are you feeling?" Jack spoke in a low rumble as he opened the fridge. "Sore. Tired. Still kinda dizzy. Not hungry but I need...something?" "Well," Daphne said, dumping some spam into a junk folder, "I just boiled the kettle if you want to get yourself some chamomile tea. It'll help settle your stomach." "Gd' idea," Jack said, and a lean, obviously masculine arm reached around her, all smooth skin and corded muscle rippling beneath. Daphne was a little shocked to see how muscular her bookworm son's arm appeared to be as his hand wrapped around her mug. "Hey, that's my-" she began, but the rest was lost in a gasp when his other hand dropped to her hip and he pressed himself into her from behind. Jack's hips were of a level with her own as she stood on her toes, and she could feel a searing-hot lump burning a brand into the deep cleft of her buttocks. The elevated heat from his body radiated through hers and she was suddenly enveloped by the musky, animal smell that had perfumed his room. Daphne's nipples crinkled up, poking faintly through her heavy sports bra and tank top. "Mom," Jack mumbled in her ear, "what's wrong with me?" His cock pressed harder against her plush buttocks. "Why do I feel all..." He groped for the words. "Y-you're sick," Daphne's voice was shaky. "Just weak from a bout of gastro." His fingers slid around her hip, gliding over her stomach. "You'll be fine in a couple of days." Hands against the granite countertop, she pushed back against him, but he was surprisingly heavy, and all she accomplished was pressing the insistent bulge deeper. "It's hard," he said. "Hard to stay up. Hard to think." His hand was splayed out over her navel, steadying himself. "Maybe you should go back to bed," Daphne suggested, trying not to move, trying not to agitate the hard on digging into her. Did he even know? "I'll bring some tea up to you, okay?" "Yeah," Jack said, vaguely. "Yeah. Good idea. I should go back." His body relaxed, and suddenly separated from his mother's, both hands slipping away. He stepped back. Viral Sensation "Good, now go on back up," she turned around. Jack was standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms hanging loosely by his sides, eyes lidded and heavy. Daphne's hand rose involuntarily to her mouth, covering a sharp intake of breath. Her son was shirtless, revealing a pale-but-sculpted torso that looked as if it had stepped off a pedestal in a Roman plaza. The lean, but muscled plates of his pecs shadowed a tight plank of laddered abdominals that led down into the sharp delta beginning beneath his navel. Low-slung flannel pajama pants were his only concession to modesty, and these hung loosely below his hips, more than low enough to let his mother's gaze follow the channels beneath them to their terminus somewhere under the fabric draped dramatically in a huge tent that bobbed gently as he swayed on his feet. Daphne knew she should be mad. She knew she should be *furious*. But she couldn't stop staring at Jack; somehow, her skinny, bookish, homebody son had developed a body that could have been laid out in a Cosmo centrefold or graced a GQ cover. Idly, one of his free hands began to toy with the pole jutting from his crotch. As she watched, a dark spot blossomed at the tip of the pole, staining the fabric dark blue. "Jack!" She clapped her hands, once. "Wake up!" She clapped again. He seemed to come to his senses, momentarily. Blinking slowly, shaking his head, he regarded his mother. "Wha? What?" He asked, hand falling to his side again. "Go upstairs." Daphne pointed. "I'll bring you tea." "Yeah," Jack said, staring at her. His eyes lingered for a long moment on her chest. "You're real pretty, mom. You know that?" "Yes, dear. Thank you, dear." She took a few steps forward, then grabbed his shoulders; his skin was so warm, smooth, firm under her fingers. With a shove, she twirled her son around, pointing him at the stairs. "Go to room. I'll be up. Bring tea." Daphne gave him a not-so-gentle push, and he stumbled away. Even from behind, his upper body was a rippling delta of sculpted muscle, coated in a light sheen of sweat. She didn't realize how intently she'd been watching him until he turned the corner and she was left wondering what she'd been going to do next. On the kitchen counter, her phone chimed as another email came in. Beyond it, steam curled out of the mouth of the kettle. Daphne clucked her tongue. 10 minutes later, she was climbing the stairs bearing a tray laden with a steaming mug of chamomile tea; beside it was a plate, with a couple of artfully arranged pieces of toast, glistening with butter. She dusted the toast with a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar, Jack's childhood favorite, though she realized she had no idea if that was still the case. Daphne couldn't even remember the last time she had a conversation with her son, except to encourage him to do or discourage him from shirking schoolwork. Balancing the tray on one hand like a waitress, she gave his door a tentative knock. Why was she so nervous? There was no answer, but a murmur and music could be heard beyond the science cat. She tried the knob. It turned easily in her hand. Inside, Jack was seated at his desk, watching something at this laptop. He was still shirtless, and Daphne stopped mid-pace to scan his smooth, powerful-looking torso. The room was still rank and steamy with musk; sweat broke out on her brow. "Jack," she said in a soft voice. "I brought up your tea." He didn't respond, but a low, wet moan emanated from his desk. Daphne took another step closer, peeking around his shoulder. On the screen, a stacked brunette was sinking down onto a massive cock, her big fake tits rolling obscenely on her chest as she gasped and filled herself up. As her hips settled into place, another cock appeared from the side of the screen, the tip of it pressing insistently against her mouth. "Jack?" Daphne asked, cautious. She came closer. He didn't even seem to know she was there, his attention apparently riveted to the screen; in his lap, both of her son's hands were stroking the length of his cock, from base to tip, over and over again, a continuous tunnel of fingers working his shaft, millking out a steady stream of precum. The size of it was astounding, easily rivalling the prodigious shafts on his screen, the head of it appeared to have the circumference of a clementine; it was ramrod straight, an obscene spire standing out from Jack's crotch, delicate blue veins tracing along the length of it. Daphne's mouth worked, but no words came. It was perfect, the kind of cock she'd always fantasized about in the depths of the night when it was just her and her vibrator, like some magical sculptor had whittled it straight out of her dreams. Suddenly, his pace changed, and he started pumping just under the head with his left hand in short, sharp strokes while the other polished his weeping knob. Jack grunted, then whimpered, in obvious discomfort as he worked his needy young cock with a will, obviously trying hard to bring himself off in short order, but somehow unable to get over the finish line. "Jack?" She said, again, and laid a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up, turning to regard her. As his eyes locked on hers, the weeping slit of his cockhead dilated once, twice, then vomited out a thick plume of gelid cream that splashed across his bare shoulder and her knuckles. It was scalding hot, but Daphne was held in place as three more strong spurts of the stuff erupted forth from her son's cock, splattering out across his bare chest and stomach, rivulets of it oozing down through the channels left by his new musculature. "Mom!" He grunted as successive spurts of thick, pearlescent cum splashed against his skin. "'Mom! Mom! Mom!" Cum dribbled out over his thumb. "Mom?" Daphne watched a loop of cum quiver on the setting of her engagement ring. "Mom? Oh god, Mom! I'm so sorry!" Now he was looking, really looking at her. "Don't be sorry!" Daphne said, taking a step back, letting her hand reluctantly slip from his shoulder. "It was my fault, surely! I was just bringing up that tea, and I should have knocked louder, and then-" she gestured with her free hand, then grabbed the tray and presented it, putting it between them as her son slowly got to his feet. All she could smell was the bleachy musk of his semen. "God, I just- I came everywhere and, it's so hard to think, Mom." He brushed at his stomach, absently, smearing a streak of semen across his skin. Between his legs, his cock hadn't flagged a fraction of an inch, if at all, and a final bead of cream welled up at the tip. Jack swayed dangerously on his feet. "Here," she said, suddenly, and laid the tray down on the floor. "Get back to bed," her hand rested gently against his cum-slick stomach, the other at the small of his back as she guided him towards his bed. Her fingers moved in tiny circles of their own accord, massaging his sticky, warm flesh. Jack sat on the mattress, cock bobbing. His torso gleamed with spent semen. "Let's...let's get you cleaned up." Dropping to one knee, Daphne snatched up yesterday's shirt from where he'd discarded it on the floor, and started dabbing at the rapidly-melting goo on her son's left pectoral muscle. She took her time sopping it up before moving to the splatter across his abdominals. His cock quivered as he watched her with apparent disinterest. "You're really pretty, mom." He said in a quiet voice. "All my friends say so, but not to my face." Daphne's hand stopped. "They're all jealous that my mom is so hot. Bitchy and hot. They say-" "Jack, I don't think you-" The bead of cum at the tip of his prick welled up and out of the pissslit, slowly oozing down the shaft. "-that you're a cougar mom not a tiger mom. Is that right? It's so hard to- to think." His brow furrowed. "Dave says that you've got a world class ass, that he'd give his left nut to touch it, but I touched it, I felt it. It felt good, mom." Daphne licked her lips, watching the rivlulet of semen running down the thick pipe underscoring his enormous cock. "Can- can I touch it again?" "That's not a good idea, Jack." Daphne said, voice quavering. That wayward bead of cum ran straight down to his sac, where it nested in his pubic hair. On impulse, she reached down with the shirt and dabbed at it, prompting a low moan from her son. "Mom," he began, letting his thighs drift apart. That movement broke whatever spell Daphne was under and she rocketed straight to her feet, unsteady on suddenly watery knees. "Here," she said, turning to grab the tray. He moaned again, and she looked over her shoulder to see him staring directly at her behind, saran wrapped in her yoga pants. She stayed there for a long moment. Jack reached for his still-saluting cock. Downstairs, the front door slammed. "Hellooo? Honey, I'm hooome." Charles shouted as he strolled into the living room. Casting about, the 60 year-old ad exec tossed his coat onto one of the couches. "Daphne? Jack? Hello?" Feet thudded down the stairs, and his wife appeared, face flushed. She was holding a wad of grey fabric in a fist, while slurping on the ring finger of her left hand. Daphne pulled that finger out of her mouth, licked her lips, then stood on her tiptoes to give husband a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. He could smell...something, but she danced away too fast for him to identify it. "You're home early. Something up?" He asked, as she stuck her knuckles back into her mouth. Daphne shook her head, then: "Jack's sick. I drove him home from the University, and stuck around to look after him." "Slow day at the office? I thought I heard something about a bug going around?" Charles raised an eyebrow. "What's on your hand?" "Yeah," she said, shrugging. "Nothing going on at work. Just some kind of mild cold bug. There's some- some butter on my hand: I got Jack some toast, to help settle his stomach." "Well look at you, Florence Nightingale." Charles laughed, and laid his briefcase down on a nearby table. "When was the last time you did that?" Daphne's face darkened as she frowned at him. "He's our son. I don't mind looking after him. That's a mother's job, after all." She turned to go. "I'm going to go throw his shirt in the laundry." With that, she stalked off. If Charles saw her smelling their son's discarded shirt, he didn't say anything about it. -- The following morning found Charles and his wife on opposite ends of the kitchen, variously drinking coffee and checking their emails and catching up on the news. Daphne gave her husband a chilly side eye as she pretended to read the latest slew of CDC reports that had blown up her phone overnight. Charles, for his part, sipped on his coffee, just as oblivious to her displeasure as he'd been to her sexual advances the evening before. The chunky heel of one of Daphne's black ankle boots tapped impatiently against the kitchen tile as she thumbed through the idiotic parroting, head nodding and naysaying on the part of Ted, the board, and apparently every numbskull at the hospital. The silence was heavy, pregnant. Shooting him a look, she opened up her mouth to tell him off and- "Good morning, sunshine!" Her husband said heartily. "How are you feeling?" Jack appeared at the doorway, stepping down from the stairwell. "Better. Hungry." He padded into the kitchen, still wearing nothing but the pajama bottoms he'd been sporting the night before. He scratched lightly at his stomach as he investigated the fridge, and Daphne watched the fabric of his pants pull tight around his buttocks as he leaned in. Underneath her suit jacket and creamy silk blouse, her nipples crinkled up. "Going to school today?" Charles asked, barely looking up from his paper. "Nah," Jack said from the depths of the fridge as bottles clinked. "Don't feel like it." "Excuse me?" Daphne's nostrils flared. "Young man, we do *not* pay an arm and a leg each semester just so you can-" "Jesus Christ," Charles said. "Give the kid a break, will you? You're the one who said he was puking his guts up yesterday." She took a deep breath, preparing a tirade in response. Her husband checked his watch. "Shit, I'm late. See you guys tonight!" With that, he was on his way out of the kitchen. The door slammed shut. "Fucker!" Daphne shouted after him as she regained herself. "Useless, limp dicked old fucker!" "Mom?" Jack stood up, holding an apple in one hand. "What's wrong?" "Your father is what's wrong," she said, wheeling about to face her son. Her hair was down this morning, a halo of loose brown curls that whipped around as she turned. Daphne crossed her arms under her breasts, forcing the lapels of her suit jacket outward and exposing a deep cleft between them. Jack's eyes fell into it of their own accord. "As for you, young man-" "Aw, mom," he started to complain. She took a step forward and jabbed him in the left pectoral with a sharp fingernail. His nipple was the same shade of brown as hers. Her fingertip made tiny circles on his skin. It was warm but not feverish, and very smooth. "You," she said again. "You will go back up to your room immediately and get dressed, for starters. We do not lounge around the house half naked here." Her fingernail started tracing lazy loops across his firm flesh. "And take a shower. I can smell you from here." Daphne's nostrils flared as his thoroughly male, musky odour filtered through her nose. "And- and if you *are* feeling better, then I'll drop you off at the university my own damn self, since you seem inclined to goof off." "It's just one day," he said, as Daphne stared at her own finger, then let her eyes trail downward. "Plus it's still hard to- to think? Maybe I'm still sick?" "I don't care," she replied. "I've already got one useless man in this house. I intend to see to it that I don't have two." There was a stirring in Jack's pants. Her fingernail traced downwards an inch or two, as if reluctant to part from him. "So go and get...get cleaned up." She scratched lightly at him, between his pecs. "And I'll take you- take you to school." A tent began to arise in his pyjamas. "Yeah," Jack bit into the apple with a crisp snap. Juice dribbled down his chin. "You look real good today, mom." Daphne actually *blushed*, something she hadn't done since childhood. "It's just a pantsuit," she said, taking a step back. "Do you really think so?" Daphne unbuttoned her abbreviated blazer. The silky white blouse underneath exposed a significant wedge of her chest and deep cleavage. Her blouse was tucked loosely into a pair of slim-legged black pants stretched tightly across her thickly-muscled legs. She turned to the side, and Jack's gaze raked over the profile of her squat-rounded buttocks. She didn't really realize she was posing for him til his right hand wrapped around his pole through his pants while he munched on his apple. "Yeah," he said between bites, massaging his cock to full erection. "You look real good Mom." "Jack," she said. "Stop that right now." He didn't say anything. They stood there a moment, watching each other. "I said stop it, young man. Stop touching yourself like that!" He just looked at her with lidded eyes. "I said," she stepped forward, hair flying about her head and looking for all the world like a furious Valkyrie. "Stop." Daphne reached out. "Touching." Her hand brushed his. "Yoursel-" Jack's hand slipped away a fraction of a second before she could grab it, and Daphne's fist was suddenly full of her son's cock. She could feel this blood pounding through the soft flannel, his shaft hard as an iron bar and too thick for her fingers to meet on the other side. The smell was more intense now, filling up the air between them with a thick heat. "Jack," she said softly, "you can't- you shouldn't look at me like that. You shouldn't touch yourself in front of me. You definitely shouldn't be so *hard*," her fingers squeezed his cock. Daphne had never felt anything quite like it, living steel pulsing gently in her fist. "Sorry," he said. "I can't help it. I don't know what's wrong with me. Ever since yesterday, I can't stop thinking about you." "Well it has to stop." Daphne's fingers flexed. "I can't. I can't make it go down," Jack said. "I tried so hard yesterday, mom, but I can't make it go down." He grimaced. "I woke up this morning and it was soft, but there's so much mess in my sheets... And the dreams were just..." "Young man," Daphne said, somewhat breathlessly. "This cannot go on." She moved her fist, and the waistband of his pants gapped momentarily. Hot air brushed her face and she could smell it now, rising up from his cock like steam, the aroma of his cum and precum and musk. Before she knew what was happening, Daphne was hooking her fingers in the elastic and drawing it downwards. His pole flicked sharply like a diving board as it snapped past the tip, flinging a slug of precum upward to splash on her sternum. "I'm just- I'm going to help you. This *one time*." Now she was dropping to her knees, head enveloped in a cloud of his heady aroma, staring at the satsuma-sized tip of his cock. "Do not," she said, staring her son's dick in the eye, "tell your father about this." At the mention of Charles, a thick dollop of cocklube bubbled out of the weeping slit. If Jack had a response, it was lost in the long shuddering gasp that escaped him as his mother lifted up his weighty cock and gently kissed the underside of his glans, her generous lips massaging the sensitive flesh in a way that made him have to grip a nearby countertop to keep steady. Daphne noisily kissed and suckled at the greasy tip of his cock; there was no way, she knew, that more than a few inches of his mammoth member would fit inside her mouth without dislocating her jaw, but that wouldn't stop her from sensually making out with throbbing purple helmet. The smell, the taste of him provoked a hunger and a salivary response in her that would have made Pavlov proud. Soon, rivulets of drool were speeding their way down his shaft, occasionally cobwebbing out and splattering on the floor. With a snarl, Daphne let his cock pop out of her mouth momentarily to lap up the errant liquid, pregnant with Jack's flavour; she slurped from balls to tip, then began working her lips around the flare again. Her hands locked around the shaft and began to stroke it, milking his precum out into her waiting mouth. Her lips suctioned out as she pulled back briefly to give herself some swallowing space, and then Jack's hands were in her hair, pushing her back downwards again. "Mom," he grunted. "Mom, fuck. Fuck that's so good." Jack stared down at her, working so diligently at his thick youthful meat, all her attention focused on pleasing his pole. Her elegant fingers, wrapped so tightly across his girth, shuttled up and down the increasingly-slippery shaft, making obscene *schluck*ing sounds. Daphne's eyes met his. Her rings glinted in the morning sunlight as her hands flashed up and down his cock. "I don't know if I can hold- oh fuck! Oh Mom!" His mother's eyes went wide as Jack grunted and trembled and suddenly she started making desperate choking noises; she pulled off his cock, mouth wide open, and a thick streamer of cum and saliva followed in a short-lived arc that snapped and splattered across her chin and sternum and blouse. Daphne coughed and tried to speak as the cum dribbled from her plush lower lip, but was interrupted by another plume of semen that splattered across her features. "Jack!" She spluttered. He took over jerking his fat dick, pumping out another half dozen strong spurts of semen, trying to aim away from her face and succeeding only in hosing down her chest. The yellowy goop stained and soaked through the shimmery silky fabric of his mother's blouse, revealing the strained fabric of the no-nonsense nude bra underneath. Viral Sensation "Jesus, Jack." Daphne wiped a stray slug of semen out of an eyebrow, regaining her footing as she stood. "I didn't even know so much cum was possible. I know a urologist who woul-" Jack's cock stood, unflagging, a dollop of cum spiralling out from the tip to splash on the floor. She stared at it, then began unbuttoning her blouse. "Absolutely ruined," she muttered before shrugging out of it and throwing the garment aside, along with her blazer. The seamless nude cups of her bra were overflowing with voluminous breast flesh, heaving and threatening to overflow as Daphne's shortened breath came in shuddering heaves. "Have you ever even seen real tits before, sweetheart?" She asked with a wry smile. Jack shook his head, gaze locked squarely on her chest. "Are you a virgin, Jack?" "Y-yeah," he said in a husky voice. "Before I was never- I mean, I didn't look like- girls didn't want-" he gestured helplessly at his lean form, brand new musculature rippling as he did. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that anymore," Daphne replied, slurping a wad of cream from her middle finger. "God, why do you taste so *good*?" She scraped an errant streamer of cum off the upper slope of her tits, and stuck her finger in her mouth with a warm "mmmmmm." "Whatever it is, your father certainly doesn't taste like this." She smacked her lips. "Though I haven't had him in my mouth for so long he could taste like anything by now." Jack's cock was twitching, and she watched it like a songbird watches a snake, mesmerized by every movement. "Do you want to see real tits, honey?" She asked, only peripherally aware of his nod. "Do you want to see mommy's?" Without really waiting for an answer, Daphne reached behind her back and unsnapped the clasp of her bra. She slipped the straps down over her shoulders and let her tits spring free. She was aware that they were no longer rode as high or as firmly as a girl Jack's age, but as his mother's fat, voluminous breasts jostled against one another, pendant teardrops capped with the thick brown plugs of her nipples, she watched his eyes go wide and his cock jump and knew it didn't matter. "Lose the pants," she said, gesturing with a finger. "And come here." Jack didn't waste a second, trying to yank his pants off and walk at the same time, managing to stumble forward as he did, one hand landing on Daphne's left breast while his face found a soft, warm nest in between them. "Suck it," she instructed, and her son's mouth latched onto her other tit, lips and tongue working away at it. "Harder," she said imperiously. "You don't need to be gentle with me, Jack. Bite it." Daphne gasped as his teeth sunk into her sensitive flesh and his cock pressed insistently against her thigh, leaving a silvery trail on the black fabric. She held his head tightly to her, pressing his face deep into the yielding mature flesh, practically drowning him in her breast. She'd never nursed him as a baby, but now she knew his mouth belonged there, sucking and biting at her nipple. Reaching down with her free hand, she found his cock, and gave it a few experimental strokes. It was as hard as ever, showing no signs of softening or fatigue. It was so perfectly huge, she reflected; amply sized to take on her plush pussy, but not intimidatingly so. "Fuck it," Daphne grunted, suddenly pushing Jack's face away from her. He looked up at her, confused and horny and slightly stupid still from having just cum. "Fuck it," she said again, unbuttoning her pants and wriggling them down over her muscular ass, revealing the silky, silvery thong she wore underneath. Daphne turned, grabbed the countertop with one hand, and used the other to shove the gusset of her panties to one side, revealing the luscious inner lips of her pussy, cushioned by her bare vulva. "Fuck it!" She looked her son in the eye, spreading her labia wide with sticky fingers, showing off the needy, pulsing hole between them. "I said fuck it, young man!" Jack needed no further encouragement, and strode up behind his mother, grabbing a hip in either hand. She reached down between her legs and guided his inexperienced cock to her slicked up pussy. "Do it!" Daphne commanded, then grunted as his huge cockhead popped inside her clasping cunt. "Fuck," she said through gritted teeth. "Fuck you're big." Using her hips for leverage, Jack began squeezing his thickness inside of her, filling her almost to bursting, stretching the walls of her pussy up to, but not over, the brink of discomfort. Instead, Jack's cock filled her up as she'd never been filled before, like a hand in a glove, working its way into every nook and cranny until his hips met the curve of her ass and the head of his cock bumped up against her cervix. He was *just* the right size to fill her cunt to its maximum capacity without actually hurting her. He was perfect, like his cock was custom built for his mother's clasping, slippery hole. "Don't just stand there," she said, breathless, adjusting to the new sensation of having her pussy filled as it should be. "Fuck me!" Slowly, cautiously, Jack began to draw his cock back out of her, then slid it back in, his hips cushioned by her plush buttocks. "What are you doing?" She complained. "I told you to fuck me now *fuck me*!" With that, Daphne shoved herself back against him, hard. Flesh slapped against flesh, and Jack watched her ass ripple as the shockwave flowed through it. She heard him snarl, and his fingers dug deep into her hips. His cock drew back, then slammed forward, shoving her roughly against the countertop. Then again, and again, and soon the kitchen was filled with the snap of skin slapping against skin as Daphne hung onto the kitchen counter while her son slamfucked her for all he was worth. He pushed her forward and soon she was standing on her toes, bent over the counter, one knee crooked and her bootie in the air, then both, body nailed in place by Jack's remorseless pounding. "Harder!" She shouted back over her shoulder. "Fuck me harder you son of a bitch! Fill me the fuck up with your big fat cock and fuck me like your limp dicked dad never could!" That really brought out the animal in him, and Jack began relentlessly fucking her double time, grunting and puffing like an ox in a harness. With every stroke, Daphne could feel the suction pulling on her, threatening, it seemed, to draw her inside out if he should piston backwards too far; every downstroke hammered his cockhead into her g-spot and dragged another wet, needy grunt out of her mouth. "Yes!" Daphne enthused. "Fuck me like like I *need* to be fucked! Fuck mommy with that big stud cock and make me cum!" Her hips wriggled around on Jack's cock, attempting to wrest some level of control from him, but there was no wrangling his animal thrusts, the sheer lust-fueled power of his cock as it pounded into her; for the first time in her life, all she could do was simply relax into the pleasure and enjoy the ride. It felt good to relinquish control, even if temporarily. He was bent low over her now, his face pressed into her back, teeth gnawing against her shoulder blade. "Mom!" Jack grunted with each thrust, chanting as if it were his mantra, "Mom! Mom! Mom! Fuck! Mom!" "Fuck mom!" She agreed, a dopey grin crawling across her features; Daphne's eyes rolled back into her head, and fireworks began sparking into her vision. "Yes! Fuck mom!" Her toes curled inside her shoes, and her thighs began to quake. "Make mommy cum!" Liquid splattered against the kitchen tile as Daphne started bucking and spasming, muscles coiling and uncoiling as her body was wracked with ecstasy. Her heels kicked and one of her ankle boots clattered to the floor; wordless cries were rose to a crescendo each time Jack bottomed out inside her pussy, and her hips corkscrewed around, trying to wring every last ounce of pleasure out of his swollen cock that she could. "Jack!" She shouted, suddenly, catching her breath. "Fucking cum in me, you son of a bitch! Fucking fill me up!" "Fuck. Fuck shit fuck, Mom!" Jack grunted into her back. Her son's balls jumped and his cock momentarily swelled to an even greater girth, as the first spurt of cum splashed against the heated walls of Daphne's clasping pussy. He couldn't stop thrusting into her as he came, and soon the floor beneath them was awash with their mingled fluids. She lost track of time, but eventually Jack's body went rigid one last time and he released a long-held breath, stepping away from his mother's limp body. A torrent of liquid was released when the thick plug of his prick fell free. No longer nailed to the counter by the force of his thrusts, Daphne sank to the floor, too dopey on her own endorphins to stand. Their cooling spend soaked through her pants and into her skin. Panting, she rolled over and regarded her son. Jack leaned against the fridge, chest heaving, beads of sweat rolling through the channels cut between his prominent muscles. His dick, shining and slick and dripping, pointed down at the floor, showing its first signs of satisfaction in two days. He regarded her with lidded eyes and lazily scratched at his balls. "I think maybe you're too sick to go to school after all," she said with a wolfish grin. "Let's get you back to bed." "Sure," he said. "Whatever you say." "Good," Daphne replied. "But my bed this time, not yours." -- "Ugh! Ted, I told you- I *told* you Dr. Oyama was only too happy to, to switch." Daphne held the phone to her ear with a shoulder. "What?" Her lip curled in a snarl. "No, Ted I *don't* believe that I'm 'being irresponsible' or 'ignoring the needs of our patients.' My *son* is the only patient that matters to me right now and-" she ruffled Jack's hair playfully as she pretended to listen to the phone. "Well, I don't give a damn that I missed the meeting. Oh?" Daphne contemplated her bare foot, outstretched on a nearby coffee table. She wiggled her toes. They needed repainting. Her toes bunched up suddenly. "No, no!" She said, struggling to keep the phone where it was. "You can- you can tell the board that they can go suck- sssuck a tailpipe- fuck! Fuck as far as I'm concerned." Her fingers clenched and then the mobile clattered to the floor, Ted's tinny voice unheeded as Daphne's body arched off the couch. Strangled gasps burst out of her as she came as quietly as she could manage. Between her legs, Jack was grinning. "Goodbye, Ted!" Daphne said in a loud voice once she'd recovered her breath. Lightning fast, she reached down and snatched up the phone, hanging it up with an angry thumb. "That's enough, you little shit," she said with a laugh, shoving him away with a bare foot. A pair of spandex yoga shorts dangled from her other ankle. "You sure?" He said, relaxing against the arm of the couch. His chin glistened, dripping with her juices. Jack wore a pair of loose basketball shorts that did nothing to hide the bulge of his cock running along his left thigh, and nothing else. He scratched his stomach. "Reasonably sure," Daphne said, hooking her foot back into her shorts, and yanking them up over her ass. The wetness between her thighs was starting to cool, but she didn't care. Jack watched her long, muscular legs scissoring. "I need to rehydrate and recharge before I go to work." "Well if it's fluid you need..." Her son grinned. Jack flexed his abdominals, and his cock twitched in his shorts. A bead of precum appeared on his thigh, rolling down to his knee. Daphne bit her lip. "Maybe later, Romeo," she said. "If I'm working from eight til eight, I'll need some real food in me at some point, and a girl can't live on protein alone, no matter how tasty it is." Her bare foot dragged itself up his thigh, toes sliding inside the leg of his shorts. "It's too bad you'll be at Uni by the time I get home." She said. "School." Jack made a disgusted noise in his throat. "Do I have to?" Daphne's foot moved inside his shorts. "I thought you loved school?" "I dunno." His brow furrowed. "Maybe I can think of more important stuff to-" The front door opened and slammed shut. "Hellooo!" Charles shouted as he walked in. He strode into the living room, tossing his jacket down on a nearby armchair. His wife and son were watching television on opposite ends of the couch, a blanket tossed loosely over them both. "What are you doing home?" He said, coming over to kiss Daphne on the brow; her skin was a little damp. "You're not getting sick, are you?" "No," she laughed. "Jack took a funny turn after you left, so I stayed home to look after him. I switched shifts with Yuri. I'm going in tonight at eight." Her legs moved under the blanket. "Ah," her husband said, standing up. He regarded his son. "I was right after all! So much for doctors. How are you feeling, Jackie-boy?" "Good," the kid said. His face was flushed and his eyes a little unfocused. "Getting better." "Think you'll go to class tomorrow?" Daphne stretched out, catlike, as Charles spoke. Jack stirred, and opened his mouth to answer. "I think at least one more day is probably in order," his mother said, instead. "Just to be sure we get it all out of his system." Jack just nodded. "Man you must be sick if your mom is advocating for rest at home," Charles chuckled. "There's a serious bug going around," Daphne said sternly. "I just want to make sure our son gets the best. Care. Possible." Jack stirred, and his face got redder. "I can keep him under my observation *all day* tomorrow after my shift, unless you want to." Charles held up his hands in mock surrender. "No way," he said. "I've got meetings all this week, plus a conference in Phoenix to prep for. I don't want to come down with whatever he's got. Sorry buddy, you're in your mom's hands for the duration." "Not just my hands," she said cryptically. "I-I don't mind, dad." Jack said, a dopey grin crossing his features. "I kinda like- like hanging out with mom. She takes g- goooood care of me." "I'm sure you'll return the favour sometime," Daphne said with a sly smile. Charles looked from one to the other, mildly confused. "Well." He loosened his tie. "I'm going to go change, and I guess we'll order out for supper?" "Sure dad," Jack's head lolled a little to one side. "Whatever." Daphne held her son in her gaze, not bothering to look up at Charles. "If you're going to shower, don't use up all the hot water. I'll need one myself before I go to the hospital." "Uh, yeah. Okay." Her husband pulled his tie out from his collar and headed upstairs. He didn't see his wife draw her cumslick foot from the blanket as soon as his back was turned, and he certainly didn't see her bend over double and start licking it. -- A Tuesday-into-Wednesday overnight was bound to be slow: few admissions, fewer consults, fewer still fires to put out. It had been a while since Daphne had pulled one, and she hadn't realized what an opportunity it presented to catch up on paperwork while doing her rounds. As she'd expected, there'd been a rash of MF cases over the last couple of days. Well, not so much a rash as a wave: a couple dozen young men, largely students from the University, had been admitted, all showing symptoms consistent with the virus. Not long after, a couple of hours in some cases, almost all had been discharged again, most of them by their mothers. Each chart was so eerily similar that Daphne was done reviewing them before she'd gotten an hour into her shift. She propped her feet up on her desk in their comfortable shoes, and tapped a pen against her mouth. On a whim, she picked up the phone. "Hello? Mrs. Williams? Yes, this is Dr. Ryerson from St. Lucia Memorial Hospital, I'm just doing a follow-up on your son, Derek and- hello?" She gave the receiver a quizzical look. It took four more calls until Daphne found someone who would talk to her. "No, Mrs. Laramie, this isn't about a bill, that's a different department." "That's Miz Laramie to you," said the strident voice on the other end of the line. "Who did you say you were again?" "My name is Dr. Ryerson, I'm just doing some follow up on your son - Gareth - I see here he was admitted this morning but you discharged him before the lab results were-" "His *father* brought him in," the woman on the other end said the word in the same way one might have said 'cockroach' or 'slime mold.' "After he'd been sick a whole day. Gareth was on the mend by then, so we discharged him and *I* brought him home, where he belongs." "Oh," said Daphne, walking on eggshells. "Well, I thought you might be interested to know that Gareth tested positive for a particularly virulent disease we've been calling the MF-" "It can't be all that bad." Ms. Laramie said. "Well it's a highly contagious pathogen that the CDC has issued-" "Frankly, he's better now than he was before he got sick." The woman on the phone sniffed, and Daphne could hear rustling on the other end. "Excuse me?" "Doctor, my son has always been what you might call 'a handful,' and what I've always called 'a disobedient little shit.'" More rustling. "But for the last couple of days, he's been a very, *very* good boy, haven't you?" A muffled male voice said something. "In fact, you could say that now he's behaving like the young man I always wanted." Daphne could have sworn she heard a zipper. "So, quite frankly, I don't really give a shit what he had or didn't have. I have what I- ah! Deserve!" Miz Laramie hung up without another word. Daphne mulled that over as she did her rounds, distractedly checking in on a number of sleeping patients, reading their updated charts, consulting with folks down in the ER. She strongly suspected, though she hadn't yet admitted it to herself, that Jack had been infected with MF. All the symptoms had presented, but she hadn't done any testing or followed through on the guidelines she'd been advocating for in the first place. They'd been too...distracted by other things. Even now, she felt a heat beginning to build between her thighs, just thinking about Jack and his sculpted body and divine cock. What did that mean? In the cold light of the hospital fluorescents, it was objectively crazy; not only had her son developed a body that would have made David Beckham jealous, but he'd used it to make her cum more in the last day or so than she had in the last year. By the lights of any sane person, it was wrong and stupid and dangerous, but it made her pussy so slick with arousal she was seriously contemplating a visit to the ladies' to take the edge off. Was it the virus? Had it changed something in both of them? Was she infected? Daphne quickly and surreptitiously drew some of her own blood and sent it off to the lab for testing under somebody else's name. The results came back in less than an hour, showing no sign of infection - no elevated white blood cells, no antibodies, no dead viral bodies, nothing. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but then realized that she had no more answers than before. MF hadn't infected any women, had it? It strictly kept to a diet of young men, or so they said. Before she left in the morning, Daphne pocketed a blood sampling kit. Miz Laramie's words kept rattling around in her head: "The young man I always wanted." She thought long and hard about her son. About his hard body, about his fat cock, about his unflagging sexual appetite. Is that what she wanted? What about school? What about his future? What about ensuring he wasn't like his father? Well, he was certainly not like Charles now, she reflected; the very notion of a comparison between her limp dicked, aging husband and the young stud she'd left at home was laughable. Daphne was resolved to get some answers as she walked in through the front door, sneakers squeaking on the porch tiles as she did. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and the loose green scrubs she'd worn that evening hung limply from her body. Viral Sensation Passing the living room, she saw Jack sprawled on the couch, wearing a pair of loose track pants and a tank top. The silhouette of his cock through the thin nylon was only marginally more distracting than the taut lines of his body clearly visible through his shirt. Daphne steeled herself and drew the needle out of her pocket, affixing it to the blood collection vial as she did. Her gaze crawled up and down her son's body, greedily soaking in his effortless sex appeal. As quietly as she could, she sank to one knee beside him, looking for a good site on his arm to take a sample. Gingerly, she unfurled one arm, hoping to get a good jab on the inside of his elbow. "Hey," Jack said in a sleepy voice. "Watcha doin', sexy lady?" Even his words sent delicious ripples through her. "Nothing," Daphne said, quickly. She shoved her hand back into her pocket. "Just, just enjoying the way you look is all. What are you doing down here?" He smiled a lazy smile. "Waiting for you. I thought maybe you might wanna-" he gestured at the rapidly-swelling bulge in his pants. "Baby, I'm a mess." She said with a laugh. "You think this is sexy?" Daphne gestured at her scrubs. "Mom," Jack said, quietly. "You're the hottest piece of ass I've ever seen. All I can think about is fucking you. Whenever you want. However you want." "Show me." Her voice was ragged. Slowly, Jack pulled the waistband of his track pants down, releasing the rising tower of cock between his legs. "I don't think I ever want to fuck anybody else," he said, a slightly confused look on his face. "You're the only one who makes me like this, mom. This is yours." In one swift motion, Daphne whipped off her scrub pants and swung a leg over his supine body; she peeled off the top, leaving her only in a black sports bra and her thick-soled Asics. Divine pleasure rolled through her body as she sank down onto Jack's thick pussy pleaser. "This is mine?" She asked, settling down onto him. "Whenever. I. Want?" Daphne punctuated her words with a roll of her hips. Jack nodded, his hands reaching up to grab her fat, mature tits through the restrictive bra. "I don't care about anything else anymore," he said, voice thick. "Are you going to give me what your father can't?" She hissed, grinding into him. "What's that?" He asked, pinching one nipple through the spandex. "A good thorough fucking," Daphne said, leaning low over his body, angling her hips. "And then another. And another. Until my brains are fully fucked out, and then again for good measure?" Jack grinned, and thrust his cock up into his mother's eager pussy, forcing a needy whimper out of her. Her fingers curled against his hard chest as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt to balance herself. "Fuck!" She gasped. "I don't care! I don't fucking care why you're like this." Daphne could feel a sudden orgasm beginning to rise up inside; she really should have taken the edge off when she'd had the chance. Jack fucked her through it, heedless of her words. His mother's pussy gushed and squirted all over his crotch as he did, and he carried on like a machine, fulfilling his new purpose. "Fuck!" Daphne grunted. "Fuck! This *is* what I fucking deserve! This *is* what I fucking wanted!" She looked down at him, eyes aglow with pleasure as he grinned up at her. "Baby you don't ever have to go back to school again, so long as you promise this fat fucker," she reached down between them and grabbed his cock by the base "is always ready for mommy to use." "Sounds like a good deal, mom." Jack said through gritted teeth, fucking himself up into her, his bloated sac slapping back and forth against their thighs. "Then it's a deal," she leaned close and kissed him on the mouth, lips and tongues mingling. Nobody said anything more articulate than "fuck" for a good long while afterwards. As Daphne's brains were being thoroughly fucked out, a similar scene was being played out between Mrs. Hollister and her son across the road, and Lester Pike and his mom in the next street over, and at the Yates' house on the bad side of town, and the Laramies' and the Whites' and the Coates' and on and on and on as the MF virus raged in all its myriad forms, giving every mom exactly what she deserved.