Helpful Uncle

A helpful Uncle is finally rewarded for his hard work.

Oh, The View

Marcus was halfway through his salad. He wiped the dressing off his mouth with the edge of his shirt before picking it up. Miles’s name flashed on the screen. Third time this month, always with some household emergency. Last time it was a leaky faucet. Before that, a wobbly ceiling fan. Marcus chewed slowly, watching the call go to voicemail.

The voicemail popped up instantly. Miles’s voice, too loud, like he was shouting into the phone from the bottom of a well. "Dryer’s fucked. Clothes are piling up. You know how Candi gets about laundry." A pause, then the sound of ice clinking in a glass. "Anyway, swing by after work. I’ll pay you" The message cut off abruptly. Marcus sighed and tossed the disposable container into the trash.

He knew Miles wouldn't pay. He never did. But Marcus didn't help out for the money. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked going over for "The View".

Marcus tugged on a pair of faded jeans and pulled on a black shirt over his bulky chest before sliding on his boots and walking to his truck. He didn't bother with his hat since it would just make his shaved head sweat.

The truck's engine groaned like an old man getting out of bed. He rolled down the window halfway, letting the thick West Virginia air rush in, carrying the scent of wet earth and gasoline. The road curled lazily between hillsides dotted with trailers, some well-kept, others sinking into the ground like tired animals. Miles lived in one of the nicer ones, a white-and-blue double-wide with a deck that listed slightly to the left.

Marcus tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to an old Waylon Jennings song. He could already picture Miles leaning against the doorframe, a beer in hand, acting like this was some casual favor between brothers and not another unpaid repair job. The thought made his jaw tighten. But then his mind wandered to Candi, A.K.A "The View", and his shoulders relaxed. She’d probably be in the kitchen, humming some country song under her breath, her hips swaying just enough to make the hem of her cutoff shorts ride up.

His mind jumped from Candi to Layla, Candi's fourteen year old daughter and twin. It wasn’t right, thinking about her like he did. She was just a kid, even if her body had other ideas. But damn if she didn’t know how to use those big brown eyes, wide and innocent one second, sharp and knowing the next. She’d started leaving the top buttons of her blouses undone when he came around, bending over just a little too far to pick up dropped pencils or whatever the hell she pretended to drop. Candi either didn’t notice or chose not to. The little brat had been teasing him for just over three years now and when he'd first jacked off thinking about her he hated himself. Now, uncountable times later, he went out of his way to sneak a peak or take whatever tease she tossed his way.

Marcus pulled into the driveway just after 7 AM and noticed that Miles was absent. "Fucking shitbag," he muttered to himself as he stepped out of his truck. Through the kitchen window, he could see Candi moving between the sink and stove, her bare feet soundless on the floor. She barely reached his chest when standing close, her dark hair pulled into a messy knot that always seemed on the verge of unraveling. The woman had a way of filling a room without trying. Hips that swayed even when she was just reaching for a coffee cup, a laugh that punched through walls.

The screen door screeched open before he could knock. Layla stood there, one hand on her jutted hip, the other gripping a sweating glass of sweet tea. She was half a foot shorter than her momma but carried herself taller, chin up like she was daring the world to comment. The girl had her mother’s dark hair and then some. Thick and wild, tumbling over shoulders already too broad for her frame. And Christ, those tits. Marcus had seen grown women with less. They strained against her thin white tank top, the fabric damp from the humidity, clinging in ways that made his throat tight. She smirked, tilting her head just enough to let the porch light catch the hollow of her throat. "Took you long enough," she drawled, stepping aside just enough to force him to brush past her.

"He’s not here," Candi said as she walked out of the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe.

"Shocker," Marcus muttered, stepping inside. The air smelled like fabric softener and something faintly burnt.

Layla followed him to the washing room where she jumped up on the washer to swing her legs in slow arcs while texting, her flip-flops dangling precariously from her toes. She glanced up when Candi walked in, flashing her a grin. "Uncle Marcus to the rescue again," she said, placing her phone in her tank top next to her tits. Marcus glanced away before he could be caught staring at the nipples that were abundantly visible. *Only fourteen and filling out like fucking pornstar* he thought.

Marcus crouched to inspect the dryer’s control panel, popping it open with the flathead screwdriver he always carried in his back pocket. "Your dad say where he went?" he asked, more out of habit than curiosity. The wires behind the panel were a tangle of colors, one of them frayed at the end.

Candi leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. "Bar," she said simply. "Left an hour ago with a six-pack in the passenger seat." There was no bitterness in her voice, just a tired acceptance that made Marcus’s chest tighten. He’d heard that tone before from their mom, years ago, when Miles would miss dinner for the third time that week.

The dryer’s innards hummed as Marcus twisted the frayed wire back into place with practiced fingers. His hands knew the work. This was the third dryer he’d fixed this year, all for Miles, but his attention kept slipping. Layla’s bare thigh brushed against his shoulder as she shifted on the washing machine, her flip-flop grazing his back. He could smell the strawberry shampoo in her hair, something cheap and sweet from the drugstore.

"Think it’ll work now?" Layla asked, leaning forward. The neckline of her tank top gaped slightly, thanks to the weight of her breast, showing off a large amount of cleavage. Marcus forced his eyes back to the wiring. *Jesus Christ.* She was fourteen. Fourteen. He’d changed her diapers more than once, back when Miles was still pretending to be a family man.

"Probably," he muttered, tightening a screw harder than necessary. The dryer panel clicked shut under Marcus’s fingers, his knuckles white from gripping the screwdriver too tight. He could feel the weight of Layla’s gaze on him, her bare knee nudging his shoulder again as she swung her legs idly. The frayed wire was fixed, had been fixed for minutes now, but he kept pretending to adjust something, his throat dry. Her shorts were too short, the hem riding up where her thighs met the washing machine, and her tank top clung to the slight curve of her chest. He could see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric whenever she moved. A smaller version of Candi, yeah, but softer. Untouched. His stomach twisted.

"You’re staring," Layla said, not accusing, just observant. Like she’d caught him glancing at a billboard, not her body. Marcus’s face burned.

"Just making sure it’s done right," he lied, standing abruptly. His knees popped. The kitchen clock ticked loudly over the hum of the refrigerator.

The clock ticked louder in the silence that followed. Marcus stood and wiped his hands on his jeans, though they weren’t dirty. Candi hadn’t moved from the doorway, her expression unreadable. Layla hopped off the washing machine, her flip-flops slapping against the linoleum as she stretched. "So, does it work now?" she asked, reaching past Marcus to press the dryer’s start button. The machine whirred to life, the drum turning with a steady, uncomplaining hum.

"Seems like it," Marcus said, stepping back. He could feel Candi’s eyes on him, the weight of them like a hand between his shoulder blades.

"You’re a lifesaver," Candi said, but her voice was flat, like she was reading from a script. She uncrossed her arms and pushed off the doorframe. "Miles was supposed to do this a week ago." She didn’t say what they both knew. That Miles would’ve half-assed it, left wires exposed, maybe started a fire. Marcus had seen his brother’s handiwork before.

Layla’s arms wrapped around Marcus’s waist in a sudden, girlish hug, her face pressing into his chest. The warmth of her body against his was electric, the scent of strawberry shampoo flooding his senses. His muscles tensed, not just from surprise, but from the involuntary tightening low in his stomach. He forced his breath steady, willed his traitorous body not to react further, but the faintest stirring beneath his zipper betrayed him. She pulled away before it could become anything more, flashing him that same crooked grin as she ducked past her mother toward the hallway.

Marcus’s gaze followed her. Not intentionally, not at first, but the way her shorts clung to the curve of her ass as she walked was impossible to ignore. The fabric stretched tight with each step, the motion hypnotic. Then, like a bucket of ice water, realization hit: Candi was watching him. Not just watching, studying. Her arms were crossed again, one eyebrow slightly raised, but her expression wasn’t anger or disgust. It was something else entirely. Calculating. Amused, almost.

“She’s growing up fast, huh?” Candi said, her voice low, deliberate.

Marcus swallowed hard, his pulse thudding in his ears as he forced the words out. "She looks just like you," he said, the admission tasting like rust on his tongue. Candi's lips curled into a slow smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Those stayed sharp, assessing.

"Mm. I can deal with looking alike," she said, picking at a loose thread on her tank top. "But if she's anything like I was at fourteen?" A dry chuckle. "Then it's gonna be hell." She tilted her head toward the hallway where Layla had disappeared, the sound of running water now faint behind the bathroom door.

"What's that mean?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Candi shrugged, a lazy roll of her shoulders that made her tank top slip lower. "Just saying. I had... appetites." Her gaze flicked to his crotch, quick but deliberate, and Marcus realized with a jolt that she'd noticed. Of course she'd noticed. "Still do," she added, quieter now, almost to herself.

"You know how it is," she continued, "Small town. Bored kids." She paused, her nail tapping against the laminate. "My daddy used to say I was built for sin." Her voice was light, almost conversational, but her eyes were dark, fixed on Marcus like she was waiting for him to flinch.

"You staying for supper?" Candi asked abruptly, pushing off the door frame. The sudden shift in conversation made Marcus blink. One moment they were talking about sin, the next about food.

"I should probably—" he started, already half-turning toward the door, but Candi cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Bullshit," she said, pulling open the oven. The light inside cast a sickly yellow glow over her face. "Miles won’t crawl in until morning, and I made enough for three." She pulled out a casserole dish covered in tinfoil, the edges crusted with something burnt. "Unless you’ve got better plans than eating lasagna"

Marcus hesitated, his stomach betraying him with a low growl. The microwave hummed as Candi slid the dish inside, the buttons beeping under her fingers.

Layla’s voice carried down the hall, singing some pop song he didn't’t recognize, the water still running. Candi didn’t look up from the microwave, her voice casual. "She takes forever in there. Always has." A pause. "Like her daddy with showers."

Candi opened the fridge and pulled out a can of beer, popped the tab with a crisp *snick*, and handed it to him without a word. The condensation clung to his palm as he took a sip, the bitterness sharp on his tongue. He watched as she reached back in, her tank top riding up just enough to reveal three roses tattooed on her lower back, and pulled out a pitcher of sweet tea.

The fridge door swung shut with a soft thud as Candi nudged it closed with her hip. Marcus watched as she poured. Two glasses filled to the brim, ice cubes cracking under the sudden temperature change. The pitcher was placed on the table with a quiet clink but his attention snagged on the drawer she opened next, the one by the sink where most people kept dish towels or spare batteries.

Candi’s hand emerged with a small orange bottle. She shook it once, twice, the pills inside rattling like dice. Two white tablets tumbled into her palm, and for a second, he thought she might pop them into her mouth dry but then she set the bottle down and reached for the butter knife left on the cutting board. The blade scraped against the pills, reducing them to fine powder in seconds. She swept the dust into one of the tea glasses, stirred it with the knife, and placed both drinks on the table with deliberate symmetry as she sat down.

Marcus took another sip of his beer. "Headache?" he asked, nodding at the now-hidden medicine bottle.

Candi wiped her hands on her shorts. "Something like that," she said, and the way she didn’t meet his eyes made the hair on his arms prickle. The shower was still running down the hall, Layla’s singing ceasing.

Candi lifted the untainted glass and took a long swallow, her throat working as the tea disappeared. She set it down with a sigh, the ice clinking.

The shower cut off abruptly. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick as the humidity clinging to the windows. Candi traced the rim of her glass with one finger, the nail chipped and bitten down. "Miles is fucking someone else," she said finally, like she was commenting on the weather.

Marcus nearly choked on his beer. He set the can down too hard. "Who?" The question came out rougher than he meant it to.

Candi shrugged, her tank top slipping off one shoulder. "Caught him in our bed the other night." Her voice was flat, but her knuckles had gone white around the glass. "Some fucking whore that's younger than me. Just heard the headboard banging and saw his ugly ass pumping away."

Marcus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the beer suddenly sour in his throat. "I'm sorry," he muttered, though the words felt useless. He'd known Miles was trash for years, hell, everyone did, but hearing it laid bare like this made his stomach twist. "What're you gonna do?"

Candi's fingers tapped against the glass, the rhythm uneven. "Get even," she said simply. Her gaze flicked to the hallway where the shower had gone silent, then back to Marcus. There was something in her eyes he couldn't quite place. Aspark, but not the angry kind. More like... anticipation.

The bathroom door creaked open, steam curling into the hallway. Layla emerged in a cloud of floral-scented mist, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, a towel wrapped snug around her chest. She padded barefoot toward the kitchen.

Marcus caught the flash of her bare thigh as she adjusted the towel, her skin pink from the heat of the shower. He forced his eyes away, focusing instead on the chipped laminate of the kitchen table. The condensation from his beer can pooled beneath his fingers.

"Momma, where's my— oh." Layla stopped short when she saw Marcus, her toes curling against the floor. She didn't seem embarrassed, just surprised, as if she'd forgotten he was there. The towel dipped dangerously low at her chest, and Marcus felt Candi's gaze on him.

"Your clothes are in the dryer, sweetie" Candi said smoothly, nudging the powdered tea glass toward Marcus with her elbow. "Should be done soon."

The glass left a wet ring on the table as Candi slid it toward Layla. "Your uncle’s staying for supper," she said, voice casual, like she hadn’t just laced her daughter’s drink with something unnameable. Layla took the glass without hesitation, her fingers leaving damp prints on the condensation. Marcus watched the rim press against her lips, the tilt of her throat as she swallowed. A single drop escaped, tracing a path down her chin before she wiped it away with the back of her hand. He wondered, with a jolt of guilt that didn’t quite drown out the heat in his gut, how long it would take for whatever Candi had crushed into that tea to work.

"Put something on before your uncle loses control," Candi said smiling, nodding at the towel barely clinging to Layla’s hips. Layla coughed on the tea, her face turning pink. The towel shifted dangerously as she stretched, one hand braced on the table, the other still holding the glass. Marcus’s breath hitched. For one unbearable second, he thought it would slip. The image flashed behind his eyelids: the towel pooling at her feet, her body bare and pink from the shower. His cock twitched in his jeans, straining against the zipper. He shifted, trying to angle himself away, but Candi’s gaze dropped to his lap, her lips curling.

Layla set the glass down with a clink, the ice cubes rattling. "You’re so weird, Mom," she said, rolling her eyes, but there was something hesitant in the way her fingers lingered on the towel’s edge, like part of her wanted to prove a point. Marcus swallowed hard.

"Go. Now." The command was soft, but final. Layla sighed, her shoulders slumping in exaggerated defeat, but she obeyed, padding toward the hallway with the towel swaying precariously with each step. Marcus couldn’t help but watch the way the fabric clung to the curve of her ass, the dimples at the base of her spine.

The bedroom door clicked shut down the hall. Candi leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her voice dropping to a whisper, “You’ve been fixing shit around here for years. Miles hasn’t lifted a finger since Layla was in diapers. And you?” She tilted her head, her dark eyes flicking over his face. “You never ask for a damn thing.”

Marcus’s throat tightened. He could hear Layla humming in her room down the hall, the sound muffled by the closed door. The towel she’d been wearing was probably tossed on the floor by now, and the thought made his palms sweat. He wiped them on his jeans, the denim rough against his skin. “Y'all are family,” he muttered, but the words sounded hollow even to him.

Candi’s laugh was soft, more air than sound. “Bullshit. I see how you look at me." She smiled sinfully, "At her.” Her thumb traced the rim of her glass.

He forced himself to breathe, to unclench his fingers one by one. “She’s a kid. My niece,” he said, but the protest lacked conviction. Layla’s laughter drifted down the hall, bright and careless, and his traitorous mind supplied the image of her sprawled on her bed, her skin still damp from the shower.

"Candi-," he began.

“Stop,” she said, holding up a manicure hand. Her nails were painted bright red. “Just listen.” The microwave beeped, the sound slicing through the tension like a knife. Candi didn’t move to retrieve the food. Instead, she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You think I don’t see how you look at her? Like she’s some fucking dessert you can’t wait to taste.”

Marcus’s stomach lurched. He opened his mouth to deny it, but the words died in his throat. The truth was a live wire in his chest.

Candi’s lips curled, not quite a smile. “Relax,” she murmured, reaching out to tap his knuckles with one finger. “I’m not judging. Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it myself sometimes.” She tilted her head toward the hallway, where her daughters voice rose in conversation, probably talking on the phone to someone from school.

"You’ve been picking up Miles’s slack for years," she murmured, her fingers trailing down his forearm. "Always showing up, always fixing shit, never asking for a damn thing." Her thumb pressed into his pulse point, hard enough to sting. "I wanna repay that."

Down the hall, Layla’s bedroom door creaked open, the sound of her footsteps padding toward them. Candi didn't back down. Instead, her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "You've been looking for a while now," she said, so quiet it was almost lost under the hum of the refrigerator. "Since she was, what? Twelve? Thirteen? Earlier? When those tits of hers first popped."

The accusation landed like a punch. Marcus opened his mouth again, to deflect but Candi cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. "Fucking listen to me, Mark." She wrapped her hands around her glass. "I’m not stupid. And I’m not judging."

The microwave's hum cut through the silence just as Layla padded back into the living room, her phone pressed to one ear. Marcus nearly choked on his spit when he saw her. The pink tank top clung to every curve, the spaghetti straps digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders, the neckline dipping low enough to show off those perfect breasts, too big for her age. The matching boy shorts might as well have been painted on, riding high enough to expose the dimples just above her ass. She twisted slightly as she walked, the fabric tightening across her hips in a way that made Marcus's cock twitch.

"Mom," Layla whined into the phone, her free hand gesturing toward some invisible audience, "Brittany's mom says it's fine—"

Candi didn't even glance away from Marcus. Her fingers tapped against her glass, the ice cubes clinking like a metronome. "No. School night," she said flatly.

Layla's face crumpled in exaggerated frustration, her bottom lip jutting out. Marcus watched, mesmerized, as she turned on her heel, the shorts riding up even higher, and stomped back down the hallway. The sway of her hips was almost theatrical, like she knew exactly what she was doing. The bedroom door slammed shut behind her, rattling a framed family photo on the wall.

Candi took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving Marcus's face. "Like what you see?" she murmured, setting the glass down with deliberate care.

Marcus picked up his beer and finished it in two long swallows. "Fucking hell," he whispered.

"So here’s your payment, "she said. "Option one, you fuck me whenever you want. No questions, no complaints. Kitchen, laundry room, my bed when Miles is passed out drunk. Hell, he can even be in the bed with us. Doesn't matter." She stood up and moved close to him so her could hear he whispers. "Any hole. Any time. Anywhere."

Marcus's breath hitched as Candi's arms wrapped around his next, her whisper sending a jolt down his spine. "Option two," she murmured, raising herself on her toe tips to whisper against his lips, "you get her tonight. Just once. No strings." She purred. "She won't remember a thing in the morning. I promise."

"You're fucking with me," Marcus rasped, his throat instantly dry. The empty can slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow clatter. Candi didn't flinch. She pressed closer, her nipples hardening through the thin fabric of her tank top.

"Am I?" she breathed, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. "Then call it."

Candi sank to her knees like a sinner at an altar, her body dragging against his on the way down. The heat of her pressed against his thigh made his breath stutter. The fingers of one hand traced the outline of his cock through the denim, her thumb finding the head and pressing just hard enough to make him hiss. "Option one," she murmured, squeezing him through the fabric. Her other hand grabbed the empty beer. It can clattered as she tossed it toward the trash bin and missed. She stood with the same unhurried grace and moved around him toward the fridge.

The fridge light painted her in white as she bent to retrieve another beer, her shorts riding up. Marcus's pulse hammered in his throat. She popped the tab with a practiced flick of her thumb, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen. When she pressed the cold can against his cheek, condensation dripped down his stubble.

"Or," she said, nodding toward the hallway where Layla’s muffled voice still complained into the phone, "you take what you really want." The can clicked against the table as she set it down untasted. Her fingers, still damp from the fridge’s chill, trailed down his chest, stopping just above his belt.

"Don’t answer yet," Candi murmured as she pressed her breast into her body once more before returning to the microwave. She pulled out the dish and placed it on the counter before calling Layla to dinner. She turn at the sink, running water over her powdered fingers, and shot him a look over her shoulder. "Better sit down," she added under her breath, nodding toward his lap. "Unless you want your innocent little niece to see how hard her uncle gets for her."

Marcus swallowed hard and dropped into the nearest chair just as Layla’s footsteps padded into the kitchen. His breath caught. Her dark hair, still damp from the shower, clung to her shoulders. The water had soaked through the thin fabric of her pink tank top until it turned nearly transparent. Marcus clenched his fists under the table, his nails biting into his palms.

Candi let out a low whistle, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. "Jesus, Layla. Filming for your only fans?"

Layla rolled her eyes, tugging at the hem of her tank top where it clung to the swell of her chest. "All my clothes are either dirty or in the dryer," she said, flopping into the chair across from Marcus with a huff. "It was this or naked." The words were casual, tossed off like she hadn’t just sent Marcus’s pulse into overdrive. She reached for the powdered tea glass and took a long sip, oblivious to the way Marcus’s gaze snagged on the way her nipples peaked against the wet fabric.

Candi’s laugh was sharp, knowing. "Guess we know which one your uncle would’ve picked," she murmured, tapping her nails against the countertop. Layla blinked, her brow furrowing as she glanced between them. Marcus’s throat went dry.

Candi turned away, her hips swaying as she pulled out three plates and started serving dinner. "Eat up," she said, setting the plates on the table with a clatter. The sauce was overcooked, the pasta sticking together in clumps, but the smell of garlic and tomatoes was somehow comforting. Normal. Like they were just a family having dinner.

Layla stabbed a fork into the lasagna, bringing a fork full to her mouth. Sauce dripped onto her tank top, staining the damp fabric a deeper pink. She didn’t seem to notice, too busy humming under her breath between bites. Marcus forced himself to look away, to focus on his own food, but every shift of her body, every accidental brush of her knee against his under the table, sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

Candi watched them over the rim of her glass, her dark eyes unreadable. The ice cubes clinked as she took another sip. "So," she said, setting the glass down with deliberate care. "You decide yet, Marcus?"

Layla paused mid-bite, spaghetti dangling from her fork. "Decide what?" she asked, blinking between them.

Marcus coughed and set his fork down, his fingers trembling slightly. "Nothing," he said, too quickly. "Just—work stuff."

Layla picked at the meal, oblivious to the way her tank top slipped down one shoulder. "Mom, can I go to Jake's party Friday?" she asked, sucking a sauce-coated piece of pasta into her mouth with a soft slurp.

Candi didn’t answer immediately. She took another sip of tea, her eyes flicking toward Marcus for half a second before settling back on her daughter. "Depends," she said finally, tapping her nails against the glass. "You planning on using protection?"

Layla’s fork clattered against her plate. Her face flushed crimson, spreading down her neck like spilled wine. "Oh my god, Mom!" she hissed, glancing at Marcus with wide, mortified eyes. He busied himself with his lasagna, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.

Candi waved a hand, unfazed. "Relax. I was your age once." She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her cleavage pressing against the edge. "Found your underwear in the laundry the other day. Pretty sure that wasn’t just sweat stains, baby girl. Either you rubbed yourself hard enough to cum several times the other day or some bastard didn't pull out."

Marcus choked on his beer. Layla looked ready to melt into the floor. "Jesus fucking Christ!" she hissed, slumping in her chair like she could disappear into the vinyl. Her hands flew up to cover her face, but not before Marcus caught the way her chest heaved, the damp fabric of her tank top clinging tighter with each breath.

Candi’s grin was wicked. "Language." She reached across the table and tugged Layla’s hands down, her tone shifting into something softer, almost maternal. "Listen. You wanna get your guts rearranged? Fine. But wrap that shit up." She held up a finger when Layla opened her mouth. "And don’t even try the 'we didn’t go all the way' bullshit. I can smell dick on you from here."

Layla made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and reached for her tea and drinking deep. The movement caused the fabric stretched dangerously low, exposing the swell of her breasts, pink and pert. Marcus forced his gaze back to his plate, his pulse hammering in his ears.

"Mm." Candi licked sauce off her thumb, slow and deliberate. "Little perverts, the lot of 'em." She nudged Marcus's ankle with her toes again, her smirk widening when he jerked away. "Bet your uncle remembers being that age. All hormones and no brains."

"Ew, Mom! Uncle Marcus wasn't like that." She turned to him and placed the glass down. "Right?"

The spaghetti turned to lead in Marcus's gut. He forced a laugh, rough as gravel. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."

Candi snorted into her sweet tea. "Please. Every boy's got a skeleton in his closet." She swirled her glass, the ice clinking like bones. "Some just... polish theirs nicer than others." Her foot traced higher up Marcus's leg, stopping just below his knee.

Marcus’s fork slipped from his fingers, clattering against the plate. The sound was deafening in the sudden quiet. Layla blinked up at him.

"You okay, Uncle Marcus?" she asked, tilting her head. The movement made her wet hair brush against her collarbone, droplets trailing down her chest. Marcus’s throat worked as he watched one bead slip beneath the neckline of her tank top.

"Fine," he rasped, jerking his gaze away. His pulse hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal. Across the table, Candi’s smirk deepened. She stretched her legs beneath the table, her toes dragging up his calf with deliberate slowness.

Layla yawned suddenly, her fork clattering onto her plate. "Whoa," she murmured, blinking rapidly. "I feel kinda..." Her words slurred slightly as she rubbed at her eyes. The powdered tea glass sat almost empty beside her plate, condensation pooling around its base.

Layla's eyelids fluttered. She blinked up at Marcus with glassy confusion, her lips parting slightly as she swayed in her chair. "Mom?" The word came out thick, syrup-slow. Her fingers twitched toward the spilled spaghetti sauce staining her tank top but didn't quite connect, her arm dropping limply to her side instead. A strand of damp hair clung to her cheek where she'd slumped forward.

"Baby, you okay?" Candi's voice was honeyed concern as she reached across the table to brush Layla's damp hair back from her forehead. Layla blinked slowly, her pupils dilated enough that Marcus could see his own reflection in them.

"Mm. Just tired," Layla mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with fists that looked suddenly childlike. The sauce smeared across her cheek when she missed, leaving a red streak near her temple.

"Too much sun at the pool yesterday," Candi said smoothly, helping her stand. Layla swayed, her knees buckling slightly before she caught herself on the edge of the table. Her tank top rode up, exposing a strip of smooth stomach that flexed as she struggled to stay upright. Candi's hands gripped her daughter's waist with practiced ease, holding her steady as Layla blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy as lead weights.

For a moment, Marcus thought Candi would guide her down the hall, mother helping daughter to bed, but then Candi's fingers curled tighter into Layla's damp shirt. The kitchen clock ticked three times before Candi tilted her head and pressed her lips against Layla's parted mouth. Not a peck. Not chaste. Her tongue slid between her daughter's lips with a wet, obscene sound that made Marcus hold his breath. Layla whimpered but didn't pull away, her drugged limbs going pliant as Candi's hand slid up her side, palming the swell of her breast through the soaked fabric.

Layla's breath hitched as Candi's fingers pinched her nipple through the wet fabric, twisting just hard enough to pull a strangled moan from her throat. The sound vibrated against Candi's tongue still deep in her mouth, a filthy, wet noise that made Marcus's knuckles whiten around his fork. When Candi finally pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected their lips for a heartbeat before snapping.

"Momma?" Layla slurred, her eyelids fluttering like moth wings against her flushed cheeks. Her fingers twitched toward her stinging nipple before dropping limply to her side again.

"Shhh, babygirl." Candi smoothed a hand over Layla's damp hair, her voice syrup-thick. "Just go lay down, okay?" She guided Layla toward the direction of the hallway with a palm on the small of her back then let her walk by herself. Marcus watched the fabric stretched over her ass tighten with each unsteady step, clinging to the curve of her hips like a second skin. And He wasn't the only one looking.

"Jesus," Candi murmured under her breath once Layla turned the corner. "That ass could stop traffic." She licked her lips slowly, her gaze flicking to Marcus's lap. "Bet you'd like to put your hands on it, huh?"

Marcus's fingers tightening around the edge of the table until the cheap wood dug into his palms. "Why would you—" His voice cracked, the words scraping his throat raw. "She's your daughter."

Candi shrugged, the motion making her tank top slip another inch off her shoulder. She traced the rim of her tea glass with one finger, the ice cubes clinking softly. "Because she's mine," she said simply, like that explained everything.

Her gaze flicked to the hallway where Layla had disappeared, her smirk sharpening. "Besides. You think she's innocent? Fourteen's old enough to know what at least twenty dicks look like."

Candi leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking under her weight as she stretched her arms overhead. The motion pulled her tank top tight across her chest, the fabric straining against the swell of her breasts. "I was half her age when I was first fucked," she said casually.

All Marcus could do was stare at her. Candi nodded and smiled faintly like she was reminiscing.

"First time was the weekend I turned seven." She traced a fingertip around the rim of her tea glass, the ice long melted. "Told me to behave and do what they told me to do or I wouldn't be allowed back."

Marcus's pulse pounded in his ears. His jeans felt suddenly tight, the fabric rough against his cock. Candi watched him squirm, her eyes gleaming.

"Friday night, they had me bent over the card table before the generator even warmed up." She rolled her shoulders, the movement making her tank top slip down one arm. "Travis held me down while the other two took turns. Said it hurt less if they spit on it first." Her lips curled. "Fucking liars."

The refrigerator kicked on with a hum, the sound loud in the sudden silence. Marcus's fingers twitched against his thigh. He should say something, comfort her, condemn them, but all he could think about was the flush spreading down Candi's neck, the way her breathing had gone shallow.

"By Sunday, they were taking me three at a time." Her voice dropped lower, rougher. "One in my mouth, one in my cunt, one in my ass. Made me suck them clean after." She leaned forward, her cleavage pressing against the table's edge. "Taught me how to swallow without gagging. How to arch my back just right so it didn't hurt as much when they rammed into me."

Marcus's cock throbbed. He shifted in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. Candi's smirk widened.

"Bet you're picturing it, huh?" She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Little ol' me, spread wide with my brothers dicks stuffed in me?" Her fingers brushed his thigh. "Bet you'd love to see Layla like that."

Candi walked over to him and stopped just behind his chair. He could feel her breath against the nape of his neck.

"I offered myself," she murmured, her lips so close they brushed his ear. "But we both know that’s not what you really want." Her hand settled on his shoulder, fingers pressing into the tense muscle there. Marcus didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

She stepped back, her bare feet silent on the floor. Marcus watched her walk toward the hallway, the deliberate sway of her hips, the way her tank top clung to the sweat-damp skin of her lower back. She paused at the threshold, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. "Well?" she said, tilting her head toward the darkened hallway. "You coming, or what?"

Marcus’s chair legs screeched against the floor as he stood. His pulse roared in his ears, loud enough to drown out the part of him that knew this was wrong. Candi didn’t wait for him. She disappeared around the corner, her footsteps soft on the carpet.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a nightlight plugged in near the bathroom. Marcus’s own footsteps sounded too loud, each creak of the floorboards an accusation. Layla’s door was cracked open, a sliver of pale orange light spilling onto the carpet. Candi stood just outside, her silhouette framed by the light. She didn’t look back at him this time, just stepped forward into the room, leaving the door wide behind her.

Marcus’s fingers trembled against the doorframe as he stepped forward. The room smelled like lavender and something sharper. Layla’s shampoo, maybe, or the sweat drying on her skin. She lay sprawled across her bed, face down, one arm dangling limply over the edge. The hem of her tank top had ridden up, exposing the dimples at the base of her spine. Her boy shorts clung to her ass like a second skin, the black fabric stretched tight where she’d twisted in her drugged sleep.

Candi stood over her, silhouetted by the dull light from a salt lamp. She didn’t turn when Marcus entered, just reached down and hooked a finger under the waistband of Layla’s shorts, tugging lightly. The elastic snapped back against the skin with a soft thwip. "Close the door," she murmured, her voice low and rough.

The hinges creaked as Marcus pushed it shut behind him, the click of the latch too loud in the sudden quiet. Candi’s fingers trailed up Layla’s bare thigh, slow and deliberate, pausing just where the fabric met skin. She glanced over her shoulder at Marcus, her dark eyes gleaming. "Still think she’s a just kid?" she whispered, her thumb brushing the inside of Layla’s thigh.

Layla stirred faintly, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she shifted against the sheets. Marcus’s gut twisted. He should leave. He should. But his feet stayed rooted to the carpet, his gaze locked on the way Candi’s fingers curled possessively around Layla’s hip.

Candi chuckled, low and throaty, as she tugged the boy shorts down just enough to reveal the swell of one cheek. The fabric caught in the crease of Layla’s thighs, clinging stubbornly. "Look at that," she murmured, tracing a finger along the exposed skin. "Still got her baby fat."

The black shorts hit Marcus's chest with a whisper of fabric before he caught them on reflex, the cotton still warm from Layla's skin. His fingers curled around them involuntarily, the elastic waistband snapping against his wrist. Across the bed, Candi rolled Layla onto her back with practiced ease, the girl's limp body yielding like a doll's. Her legs fell open with a heavy thump against the mattress, the movement careless, inevitable.

Marcus's breath left him in a rush. Between Layla's thighs, smooth and hairless as a child's, glistened a pinkness so perfect it looked photoshopped. The folds were plush, slightly parted in her drugged stupor, the faintest sheen of moisture catching the overhead light. His mouth went dry. He'd seen porn, of course, but this, this was something alive and untouched, the kind of cunt men fought wars over. A wet dream brought to life.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Candi muttered, crouching beside the bed. She ran a finger along Layla's inner thigh, leaving a pale streak in its wake. "Look at that. Like a goddamn peach." Her nail caught on the edge of one plump lip, tugging it slightly to reveal a flash of darker pink beneath. Layla sighed in her sleep, her hips shifting minutely, but she didn't wake.

Marcus's cock throbbed in his jeans. He could feel his pulse in it, a relentless hammering against the zipper. The shorts in his hand smelled faintly of chlorine and something sweet.

Candi glanced up at him, her smirk widening as she took in his expression. "Told you," she murmured, dragging her fingertip higher. Layla's skin goosebumped under the touch, her knees twitching slightly apart. "Fourteen going on twenty." Her nail traced a slow circle around Layla's clit, the tiny bud pebbling instantly under the attention. "See how sensitive she is? Bet she comes quick."

Marcus's throat clicked when he swallowed, his mouth suddenly too dry. Candi's finger circled Layla's entrance with practiced ease, the slick sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Jesus, she's already wet," Candi murmured, pressing the pad of her thumb against Layla's clit. The girl twitched in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her hips rolled forward instinctively.

"See that?" Candi glanced up, her dark eyes gleaming under the harsh overhead light. "Like she's fucking dreaming about it." She dragged her finger lower, gathering moisture before lifting it to her own lips. Her tongue darted out, tasting. "Sweet," she pronounced, grinning as she wiped her finger on the sheets. "Like fucking bubblegum and summer."

Marcus's fingers clenched tighter around Layla's discarded shorts. He gripped tighter as Candi's hands moved higher, bunching the hem of Layla's tank top with deliberate slowness. The cotton peeled away from damp skin inch by inch, revealing the smooth plane of her stomach, the shallow dip of her navel, then—

Christ.

Marcus's breath hitched. Layla's breasts were fuller than he'd imagined, round and high with nipples a dark pink color. Candi made a low, approving sound in her throat as she pushed the fabric up further, exposing them completely. The lamp light caught on the fine sheen of sweat between them, the delicate blue veins visible beneath porcelain skin.

"Look at these," Candi murmured, palming one with a reverence that made Marcus's pulse stutter. Her thumb brushed over the peaked nipple, coaxing it tighter. "She needs to start tan topless." She bent, her dark hair falling forward to curtain Layla's chest as she took one bud between her teeth.

Layla whimpered in her sleep, her back arching off the mattress as Candi's tongue circled the stiffened peak. Marcus could see the wet shine of saliva left in its wake, the way Candi's lips stretched around the swell of flesh. Her free hand never stilled between Layla's thighs, two fingers working in slow, slick circles around her clit.

Marcus's jeans strained against his erection. He could smell Layla from where he stood.

Candi didn't hesitate. She pressed one finger inside with, her knuckles twisting slightly as she worked deeper. Layla's breath hitched, her brows knitting together as she stirred. "Mmm... Mom?" Her voice was thick, slurred with sleep and whatever Candi had crushed into that tea.

"Shhh, baby," Candi cooed, her free hand stroking Layla's hip. "Just a dream." Her finger never stopped moving, pumping in and out with slow, deliberate strokes. "Such a good girl for Mommy." The endearment dripped with saccharine sweetness even as her other hand came down sharply on Layla's cheek, leaving a red mark. "My perfect little fucking whore."

Layla whimpered, her legs trembling as Candi added a second finger. The stretch made her gasp, her back arching off the bed. Marcus could see every ripple of her throat as she panted, could count the freckles dusting her collarbones. Her tank top had ridden up completely now, exposing her entirely.

Candi's smirk widened. "Look at her," she breathed, scissoring her fingers. The wet sound made Marcus's balls tighten. "Fourteen years old and taking two fingers like a fucking champ." She leaned down suddenly, her tongue leaving over Layla's clit in one long, flat stroke.

Layla's moan was high and broken, her hands fisting in the sheets. Her hips jerked upward, seeking more of that wicked mouth even as her eyelids fluttered helplessly. Candi chuckled against her, the vibrations making Layla cry out. "That's it," Candi murmured between licks. "Cum for Mommy." Her fingers curled sharply, and Layla's entire body seized.

Marcus's breath came in ragged bursts as Layla's back arched off the mattress, her mouth forming a silent scream. The sheets twisted around her thighs as her legs trembled, toes curling against the floral comforter. Candi's fingers pumped relentlessly, her thumb circling Layla's clit with practiced precision until the girl's hips stuttered wildly. A high, keening sound escaped Layla's throat, part confusion, part pleasure, before she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Candi withdrew her glistening fingers with a wet pop, holding them up for Marcus to see. The scent of Layla's arousal hung thick in the air. Musky and sweet like overripe fruit. "Your turn," she murmured, licking her fingers clean before wiping them on the sheets. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

Marcus's jeans were painfully tight, the denim straining against his erection. He could feel his pulse pounding in his cock, each heartbeat sending a fresh wave of heat through his gut. Layla lay sprawled before him, her skin flushed pink, her thighs still parted slightly in unconscious invitation. The damp patch between her legs glistened under the harsh overhead light.

Candi stepped aside with a smirk, gesturing toward the bed like a dealer presenting a winning hand. "Clock's ticking," she murmured, nodding at Layla's limp form. "She won't stay out forever."

Marcus's fingers twitched around Layla's discarded shorts as Candi stepped back, her bare feet silent on the carpet. The scent of Layla's arousal hung thick in the air, sweet and cloying, like strawberries left too long in the sun. His throat worked as he swallowed, the click of his Adam's apple loud in the charged silence. The bed creaked faintly under Layla's shifting weight as she sighed in her sleep, her fingers curling weakly into the sheets.

Candi didn't wait for Marcus to move. She stepped forward with the predatory grace of a panther, her fingers making quick work of his belt buckle before popping the button of his jeans. The zipper hissed open like a sigh of relief. "There we go," she murmured, her breath hot against his throat as she reached in. Both her hands closed around him, the sudden contact making his hips jerk forward involuntarily. "Oh, you're READY ready," she chuckled, thumbing the slick bead of pre-cum from his tip. She brought the thumb to her lips and licked it clean. "Always knew you were bigger than Miles," she smiled. "Might fuck you after this anyway. Give you both me and her."

Marcus' moaned as she stroked him slowly, her grip firm enough to make his knees weak. "You're gonna fuck her," Candi whispered, her other hand trailing up his chest to pinch his nipple through his shirt. "Gonna fill that tight little cunt up until it's dripping." She squeezed him roughly on the last word, her teeth flashing in a grin when he groaned. "And when you're done?" Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I'll lick you clean. Every last drop."

The promise sent a fresh wave of heat straight to Marcus's cock. He shoved his jeans down past his hips, kicking them off with more force than necessary. Candi's laugh was low and throaty as she watched him step out of the tangled fabric. "Good boy," she purred, giving him one last slow stroke before turning toward the bed.

Layla lay sprawled across the floral comforter, her limbs loose with sleep, one arm flung above her head. The rise and fall of her chest was slow, steady. The only sign of what had just happened was the slight sheen between her thighs, the pink flush creeping down her neck. Candi grabbed her daughter and pulled her further onto the bed and then spread her legs open before laying down alongside her daughter, her knees near Layla's head and her face inches away from Layla's pussy so that she wouldn't miss any of the action.

Marcus's knees sank into the mattress as he crawled forward, the bedsprings creaking under his weight. His cock throbbed violently when Candi's fingers closed around him, guiding him forward until the swollen tip kissed Layla's slick folds.

"Look at that," Candi breathed, thumbing his slit and smearing pre-cum across Layla's clit. The girl whimpered in her sleep, her hips twitching upward. Candi giggled, a high, girlish sound that didn't match the hunger in her eyes, as she dragged Marcus's length through Layla's dripping slit. "Like butter," she murmured, her grip tightening.

Layla's eyelids fluttered. "Uncle... Marcus?" Her voice was thick with sleep and whatever Candi had slipped into her tea. The sound of his name on her lips sent a shockwave of heat through his gut.

Candi moved fast. Before Marcus could hesitate, she was behind him, her breasts pressing against his back as she lined him up. "She wants it," she whispered, nails digging into his hips. Her breath was hot against his ear. "Can't you feel how fucking hot she is?"

The first inch was liquid fire. Layla's cunt gripped him like a velvet glove, wet and impossibly tight. Marcus groaned, his arms trembling as he fought the urge to sink deeper. Candi laughed again, that same breathy giggle, as she rocked his hips forward. "Mhmmmm," Layla moaned, her fingers twisting in the sheets. Her thighs trembled around Marcus's waist.

Candi's hands slid from Marcus's hips to his ass, kneading the muscle as she pushed him deeper. "That's it," she coaxed, her voice dropping to a purr. "Give her what she's been begging for." Layla's back arched as Marcus bottomed out, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp. The stretch was amazing. Her pussy swallowed him whole, fluttering around his shaft like a heartbeat.

Marcus froze when Layla's hips rose to meet him.

"Daddy," she moaned.

Candi's laugh was as sharp as broken glass. "Not tonight, baby," she cooed, her fingers digging into Marcus's hips hard enough to bruise. Then her voice dropped, venomous. "Stupid fucking cunt." The words dripped with something ugly, all traces of maternal warmth erased, replaced by a hunger that bordered on violence.

Marcus felt the shift like a physical blow. Layla whimpered beneath him, her body tightening around his cock in confused arousal. "Momma—?" Her voice cracked, slurred with sleep.

Marcus's breath hitched as Candi slid out from behind him, her fingers trailing down his sweat-slicked spine before she moved to lay beside her daughter. The mattress dipped under her weight as she stretched out next to Layla, her bare thigh pressing against the girl's hip. With one hand, Candi stroked Layla's tangled hair back from her forehead, her touch almost tender. Her lips brushed against Layla's ear, whispering words too low for Marcus to catch, something soft, something secret. Layla sighed in response, her fingers uncurling slightly from the sheets.

Then Candi's dark eyes flicked up to Marcus, her expression shifting in an instant. "Fuck her," she murmured, her voice rough with want. "Hard." Her fingers tightened in Layla's hair, not quite pulling, just enough to tilt the girl's head back, exposing the flutter of her pulse.

Marcus didn't need to be told twice.

He rocked forward, the motion sharp and deliberate, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Layla gasped, her back arching off the mattress, her thighs clamping reflexively around his hips. The heat of her was unbearable. Slick and tight and alive, pulsing around him like a second heartbeat. Candi's smirk widened as she watched Marcus's control fray, her fingers still tangled in Layla's hair.

"That's it," she breathed, her free hand trailing down to pinch Layla's nipple through the damp fabric of her tank top. "Make her feel it."

Marcus gritted his teeth and pulled out slowly, savoring the drag of Layla's cunt around his cock, before slamming back in. The bedframe creaked in protest, the headboard knocking against the wall with a dull thud. Layla whimpered, her fingers scrabbling at the sheets, her eyelids fluttering like a trapped bird's. Candi shushed her gently, her thumb brushing the girl's parted lips.

"Sto-," she started.

"Shh, baby," Candi murmured, her voice honey-sweet even as her other hand urged Marcus deeper with a sharp tug on his wrist. "Just let it happen."

Marcus's rhythm stuttered when Layla's hips lifted to meet his next thrust, her body moving on some instinct older than consciousness. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by Layla's soft, broken sighs. Candi watched with rapt attention, her tongue darting out to wet her lips every time Marcus bottomed out, her thighs pressing together under the thin fabric of her shorts.

"Look at that," Candi breathed, her fingers trailing down Layla's heaving chest to pinch her nipples through the damp tank top. "She loves it. Can't even pretend she doesn't." The fabric stretched obscenely under her, the cotton clinging to every peaked contour. "She'll think twice next time."

He heard the words but couldn't think past the ache in the balls to care. Marcus's grip tightened on Layla's hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. Layla moaned, a high, reedy sound, her back arching as he angled his hips just right. Candi's smirk widened at the reaction, her fingers abandoning Layla's chest to trail lower, lower—

Marcus caught her wrist just before her fingers reached Layla's clit. "Don't," he growled, his voice rough with strain. His hips never stopped moving, pumping into Layla with relentless precision. "She's not—" His breath hitched as Layla clenched around him, her thighs trembling. "She's not yours tonight."

Candi's laugh was sharp, delighted. She twisted her wrist free with ease, her fingers skimming the inside of Layla's thigh instead. "Oh sweetheart," she murmured, her nails leaving faint red trails in their wake. "She'll always be mine." Her gaze flicked up to Marcus's face, her dark eyes gleaming with something predatory. "But for now?" She leaned forward, her lips brushing Layla's ear as she whispered something too low for Marcus to catch. Then, louder: "Be a good girl and cum for your uncle."

Layla's reaction was instantaneous. Her spine bowed off the mattress, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her cunt fluttered wildly around Marcus's cock. The sensation was unbearable. Wet heat squeezing him in rhythmic pulses, dragging him closer to the edge with every contraction. Candi lowered her head to suck on a nipple.

"Fuck," Marcus gritted out, his rhythm faltering. He could feel his own orgasm building, coiling tight in his gut. Layla whimpered beneath him, her fingers scrabbling weakly at his forearms. The sound snapped something in him. He leaned forward, bracing one hand beside her head as his thrusts grew frantic, desperate.

"Don't you dare pull out," Candi hissed coming off the nipple, her fingers digging into Marcus's forearm like talons. Her breath was hot against his cheek as she leaned in close, "Fill her up. Every fucking drop." The command slithered through him, curling around his spine like smoke. "You think she hasn't imagined this? Wondered what it'd feel like to have a real man inside her?" Her nails raked down his arm. "Give it to her."

Marcus's hips stuttered. Layla whimpered beneath him, her thighs quivering where they clamped around his waist, not pushing him away, just clinging instinctively. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: she was squeezing him, her body milking his cock with shallow, involuntary pulses. Candi saw it too. Her laugh was a blade against his ear. "Look at that," she breathed. "Little slut's begging for it."

Layla's eyelashes fluttered as another shudder wracked her frame. A thin trail of drool glistened at the corner of her mouth, her lips parted around silent, hitching breaths. Marcus watched a single bead of sweat roll down her temple, catching in the hollow of her throat before disappearing beneath the rumpled fabric of her tank top. His grip on her hips tightened. She was so small under his hands, the bones delicate as a bird's.

"Do it," Candi urged, her palm flattening against Marcus's lower back, pushing him deeper. The shift made Layla gasp, her back arching sharply off the mattress. "Cum in her. Breed her." Her teeth grazed his shoulder through the damp fabric of his shirt. "Make sure she remembers."

Marcus's vision blurred at the edges. The pressure in his gut coiled tighter, a live wire sparking under his skin. Layla's cunt fluttered around him again, her hips twitching upward in drowsy mimicry of rhythm. The bedsprings groaned beneath them, the headboard thumping against the wall in time with his thrusts. Some distant part of him knew what he was doing was wrong, the thought of pregnancy, explanations, shame. A larger part of him didn't care.

Candi's fingers tangled in Layla's hair, tilting the girl's head back to expose the flutter of her pulse. "She's close again," she murmured, her thumb brushing the shell of Layla's ear. "Feel that? How she's clenching?" Her other hand slid between Marcus's thighs, cupping his balls with deliberate pressure. "Give it to her."

"AHHH, FFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK," he growler like an animal.

The first spurt hit like a lightning strike. White-hot pleasure searing through his nerves as his hips jerked forward, burying himself to the hilt. Layla moaned, a high, reedy sound that dissolved into a whimper as Marcus's cock twitched inside her, pumping thick ropes of cum deep into her womb. Candi's laughter was giddy, triumphant. "Oh fuck," she breathed, her fingers tightening in Layla's hair. "Look at her, she's taking it."

The second hit just as hard as the first, a visceral punch of heat that made Marcus's thighs tremble. Layla's body jerked beneath him, her fingernails digging into his forearms as her pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him with involuntary little pulses. A thin whine escaped her throat, the sound muffled against the damp fabric of her tank top where her face was pressed into the mattress.

Candi didn't miss a thing. Her fingers tightened in Layla’s hair, yanking her head back to watch the girl’s face contort. "There it is," she cooed, her voice dripping with sentimental satisfaction. "She’s never coming back from this."

The third hit with an almost painful intensity, Marcus's cock pulsing inside Layla as he emptied himself deeper. Her body responded instinctively. Hips lifting slightly to meet his, thighs tightening around his waist to keep him buried inside. A shudder ran through her as another dribble of cum leaked around his shaft, the warmth spreading between her thighs. Marcus exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against her shoulder as the last tremors of his orgasm subsided.

Layla's thighs trembled violently around Marcus's hips, her toes curling against the rumpled sheets. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her collarbones, catching the dim light from the bedside lamp. Marcus watched, transfixed, as a single tear slid down her flushed cheek, whether from pleasure or confusion, he couldn't tell. Candi caught it with her thumb, smearing the moisture across Layla's parted lips. "Good girl," she cooed, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Such a good girl for Mommy and Uncle Marcus."

Marcus's hips stuttered weakly as the last pulses left him, his cock twitching inside Layla's still-clenching heat. The sensation was unbearable. Wet silk squeezing him dry, milking every last drop. Candi's fingers trailed down Layla's thigh, pausing just shy of where Marcus's cock disappeared inside her. "Still hard," she murmured, her nails scraping lightly against his shaft as she withdrew. "Guess she didn't drain you completely."

Candi looked down at her daughter and lowered her head. Her lips brushed Layla's, soft, almost chaste, the kind of kiss a mother might press to a fevered forehead. Then her fingers curled around the base of Marcus's cock, still buried inside her daughter, and the kiss deepened into something hungry. Layla whimpered against her mother's mouth, her drugged confusion evident in the slackness of her jaw as Candi's tongue slid past her lips.

"You think my husband will still want to fuck you," Candi whispered against Layla's mouth, her grip tightening around Marcus's shaft, "when he finds out you've been bred by his brother?" Her thumb circled the stretched rim where Marcus's cock disappeared into Layla, smearing the mixture of their fluids across the girl's trembling thigh.