Disclaimer: Dragonball Z is the creation of Akira Toriyama, © Toei Animation and Funimation

Polite Notice: This fan fiction contains graphic sex scenes involving a 17 year old anime character.

P.S. In Woman, Angel, Princess, Beautiful, destiny will whip and kiss Vegebul. This is not a Gohan/Bulma ship but if a fling between them upsets you, then please think twice before reading.

When I first encountered my wife, Bulma, on Planet Namek, Gohan was little more than a toddler. From what I could tell, they had no more affection for one another than an aunt and nephew.

Over the years that followed, I took for granted the platonic nature of their relationship but somewhere in the thick, sticky midst of puberty, things changed.

By seventeen, Gohan split his time between high school and living out some misguided sense of civic duty as a wannabe super hero – a farcical waste of time which, much to my distaste and amusement, Bulma encouraged.

She'd caress his forearm, punch his shoulder playfully or ruffle his hair and lavish him with platitudes, "I see the Great Saiyaman has made front page news again." She'd say; "Satan City sure is in good hands." and, "If I ever end up a damsel in distress, I'll know just who to call."

His go-to response always consisted of false modesty, "It's nothing, really." He'd say, "I just wanna do what I can to make the city a safer place." But his scarlet blush and nervous laughter belied his swelling ego.

At the time, I read nothing into the woman's sycophantic prattle. Full of condescension, she seemed to forget that she was talking to an almost-adult and not our six-year-old son who, incidentally, was the main reason behind Gohan's regular visits to Capsule Corp.

Trunks was best friends with Gohan's little brother, Goten, and every Saturday the teenager brought him over. The kids played and trained together which suited me just fine. I had indoctrinated my boy into the world of martial arts and Kakarot's youngest served him well as a scruffy haired punch bag.

Kakarot, himself, rarely visited; after a five-year stint in the other world, he was preoccupied with getting his life on earth back in order. The scarcity of his company mattered very little to me and I'm positive that he felt likewise. We shared a unique affinity and there had been instances in the heat of battle when I had been glad to call him 'friend' but neither one of us had ever sought to cultivate the kind of tight-knit bond that had developed between our young sons.

Most of the time, we faded into acquaintance.

And when it came to Gohan, my association was weaker still.

Although a regular visitor to my home, he and I passed like ships in the night. However, despite having minimal contact with him, I started to notice a difference in the way he looked at, and acted around Bulma.

The comfortable, light-hearted interactions that once flowed between them, failed to manifest. Instead, lingering stares and awkward silences filled the void. Initially, I put it down to a lack of mutual interests; afterall, what would an eleventh grader and a thirty-eight-year-old housewife have in common?

But my suspicion that Gohan had developed something of an attraction to her was more or less confirmed when he ceased to fly on his cloud. Only those pure of heart and mind could ride it - the damn thing practically evaporated whenever I, Vegeta, saiyan prince, ex-ally to Frieza, former destroyer of planets, looked in its direction.

I didn't care enough to mention the absence of his usual mode of transport; Bulma, on the other hand, couldn't help but pry, "Hey Gohan, no Nimbus, today?"

"Uh?" He cast his gaze aside and rubbed the back of his neck, "No, I thought Goten could use the trip to West City to get in some flying practice."

The following Saturday, there was still no sign of the cloud. Only that time, my mother in law was the one to meddle, "I'm startin' to miss your fluffy yellow friend." She said, with a plate of cakes in one hand and her other on Gohan's shoulder, "I sure hope you bring him again soon! My flowers never look better than when he rains on 'em." With a mouthful of éclair, the suddenly flustered boy explained that he intended to gift Nimbus to his little brother and would never ride it again.

Without question, the ditzy blonde and Bulma (who was also present) bought into his apparent gesture of goodwill but as far as I was concerned, his flushed, guilty face told a different story. Namely, that the cloud refused to carry him any longer because he'd been harbouring indecent thoughts.

And every single fibre of my intuition told me that a certain turquoise-haired beauty played the starring role in his sordid little fantasies.

At first, I was amused, maybe even a bit thrilled, that my wife was the object of another male's desire.

That is, until a couple of weeks later when she twigged his crush (while leaning forward to serve iced tea, she caught him staring down her top in open mouthed wonderment). She didn't let on straight away but moments later it was clear from her irrepressible smile that she had enjoyed the attention.

From then on, there was a marked change in the way she dressed for the Son brothers' visits - tighter jeans, plunging necklines, shorter skirts, heels instead of flat shoes. And, before answering the front door, she'd make a last-minute dash to the hallway mirror to reapply her lipstick or fix her hair or reposition her push-up bra.

I said nothing. I didn't want to appear petty or jealous over a geeky teenager and, in any case, I felt certain that he'd never act upon his desire. Quiet, shy and sensitive, he positively wilted in Bulma's exuberance. He lacked sexual sophistication and was, fundamentally, inexperienced in all matters romantic.

Nevertheless, I took to spying on the two of them.

During the course of their visits, the loose routine that had always taken form (with or without my presence) went ahead as usual. Within seconds of greeting one another, Trunks and Goten ran off together while Bulma and Gohan headed into the kitchen where she offered refreshments and made small talk.

"Catch any criminals lately?", "Hey, next time can you bring me Chi Chi's curry recipe?", "Tell Goku to come see Vegeta, he could use the company." That sort of thing.

But no matter how innocent the conversation, something strained and hormonal hung in the air. There was no mistaking it for anything else; it was unalloyed sexual tension.

Sometimes, my in-laws ambled in and broke it with their cheery dispositions; however, that only served to highlight the charged atmosphere which re-formed as soon as their daughter and the kid were left alone.

He'd glance while she filed her nails or browsed through a catalogue, she'd smile back, he'd mentally kick himself for not looking away in time and, minutes later, it happened all over again like a video clip stuck on replay.

The excitement and tedium was palpable; as was Gohan's internal conflict. He relished Bulma's company but all of that teasing and retreating drove him to bring homework as an excuse to look down when it became too much.

For the most part, she was sensitive to his shyness and left him to bury his head in his books. And then, of course, there were times where she refused to be ignored. She'd perch on whatever surface he'd chosen to work at, cross one leg over the other, flash him a whole lot of thigh and ask about his studies as a thinly veiled way of commanding his nerve-wracked attention. On one occasion, she even laid on a little fashion show and it was then that I let my insecurities get the better of me.

She twirled in front of Gohan as he sat at the kitchen island, surrounded by textbooks, "So, what do you think of my new outfit?" She asked, "Does it suit me?"

The clatter of stilettoes echoed over the floor tiles; her forest green dress came down to mid-thigh and was so tight that it looked as if it had been glued on. She paused to show off the rear view and I'll admit, her ass looked amazing - like it defied gravity. No wonder then, the kid stared as if she was a movie star, "Wow!…You look amaz…"

I entered and he froze mid-sentence.

"Uh?...I mean, it's nice…" He said, "Although, you might wanna get a second opinion; I'm not much of a fashion connoisseur."

Ignoring them both, I went to the refrigerator.

Bulma cleared her throat, "Hi Honey, I thought you were training in the gravity room."

I pulled out a sport drink and shut the door, "Not interrupting anything, am I?"

The boy's eyes dropped immediately to his books.

"Of course not!" Said Bulma, "I was just telling Gohan about my latest trip to the mall."

I let out a snort of derision, "Riveting."

Her hands landed on her hips, "Don't be a jerk! Would it kill you to at least try and make some civil conversation?"

I tipped my head back and drank while casting a scrutinising gaze in the boy's direction. He looked up when I stopped in front of him, "Hey, Einstein." I said. "How's study hall going?"

Bulma sighed with frustration and though it was immature, I revelled in playing the part of school bully picking on a nerdy victim.

With his hunched shoulders and downcast gaze, he practically cowered before me. Still, he overcame his wariness and forced a half-smile, "…It's going pretty well, thanks. Apart from one algebra problem." He fiddled with his pen, "I've gone over it a dozen times but I can't seem to crack it."

I glanced at my wife then refocussed on him, "That's probably because the blood has rushed out of your head and ended up someplace else."

The kid looked at me as if I'd dealt him five aces and the woman's feathers were equally ruffled.

"Sorry, Gohan." She said while shooting me a look of utter disapproval, "Vegeta hasn't yet learned to keep quiet unless he has something nice to say."

I left in silence. Having made my point, I had no interest in hanging around to be subjected to sanctimonious drivel from a woman whose sexual conquests included a desert bandit and a mass murdering space pirate.

The following Saturday, Gohan dropped Goten off as usual but, much to Bulma's disappointment, didn't hang around. He came out with some cock and bull story about needing to go to the city library but when she suggested that he stay and search online for a digital copy of whatever book he required, he politely declined and made a flustered exit.

Later, the woman collared me and placed the blame squarely at my feet. She was convinced that my little comment from the previous week had made him feel 'uncomfortable' and, unfortunately, our conversation deteriorated from there. I suggested, in the event that Gohan never returned, she would only need to wait until little Goten entered puberty and as long as she didn't grow wrinkly, fat and saggy, she could probably count on some attention from him.

Needless to say, she didn't appreciate my response and, by that, I mean she exploded in a fit of rage punctuated with the worst swear words imaginable.

From then on, we slept separately. Granted, even at the best of times, that wasn't altogether unusual. Our relationship had always been tempestuous.

In the end, we always made up. I'd come on to her and she'd act as if she couldn't care less, resisting my advances until I threw her over my shoulder, dragged her to bed and fucked her into the other world.

The trick lay in waiting until after Trunks had gone to bed. By then, Bulma was tired and her defences were down. And so, I waited a few days for her to cool off after our disagreement before sidling up to her on the sofa. She lowered her magazine just long enough to look at me as if I was utter filth, then went right back to freezing me out. I told myself that she was just playing hard to get and slid my arm around her shoulders. There was no sign of protest which led me to presume that I was on my way back into her good books, however, when I leaned in and kissed and tongued the erogenous zone behind her ear, the ice failed to thaw.

I was shrugged off and told in no uncertain terms to g̶o̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ back off.

I suppose, after seven years together, she'd grown weary of my tumultuous ways but, more than that and for the first time ever, her refusal to reconcile with me was down to a third party.

Although Gohan wasn't aware of it at that point, he was already fulfilling her emotional needs with adoration and tenderness the likes of which I could never bring myself to give her.

Even so, I reassured myself that Bulma was a smart woman and no matter how flattering it felt to be so candidly admired, she couldn't possibly regard the wayward infatuation of a horny adolescent as anything more than a novelty.

I had my saiyan genes to thank for that gross misjudgement. Emotional intelligence is not our forte and while the deficit in our amygdala function means we're able to storm into battle practically free of fear, it also blunts our experience of and appreciation for love.

My pride and arrogance (which I possessed by the boat load) only hindered me further. When I should have persevered to win my wife over, I dug my heels in, grew pre-emptively cold and snubbed her at every opportunity.

Childish, I know, but humility had always evaded me.

Having already mocked the boy, there wasn't much else I could do to put the dampeners on his crush. As far as sins went, it was minor; hardly worthy of excessive punishment. And so, I felt that my only option was to continue to watch on from afar.

There were several regular vantage points that I liked to use whenever the Son brothers blessed my home with their presence. The staircase in Capsule Corp's lobby was my go-to starting point. Owing to the fact that humans are such lazy slobs, they always chose the elevator over putting one foot in front of the other; consequently, I was able to carry out my observations undisturbed even amongst an influx of employees and visitors.

Saturday arrived and so did Kakarot's two boys. Trunks and Goten scurried away, while Gohan, again, made some lame excuse about needing to leave.

Only, this time, Bulma came back at him with an equally weak counter-plea.

"Wait!" She held out her hand, dropping it when he turned around to listen, "Umm, could you help me out with something?"

His eyebrows raised, "…Uh?...What is it?"

"I need someone big and strong to get the dinosaur food down from the top shelf in the store-room."

He buried his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor, "…Isn't Vegeta around?"

"I don't know where he is." An obnoxious hair flick was swiftly followed by the stroppy crossing of her arms, "And, to be honest, I don't care."

"Oh…" He looked as if he wanted to ask about what I had done to piss her off but I guess he feared being led into a tedious and uncomfortable conversation, "In that case, sure; I can spare a few minutes."

I stalked them to the store-room where Gohan retrieved the huge sack of pet food and held it on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

"Where do you want me to put it?"

Bulma, having been impressed by his display of raw strength, sank her teeth into her bottom lip, "You can put it wherever you want, Sweetie."

The innuendo made me cringe and the boy fared no better. He blushed profusely and could no longer bear to look at her. After some quick thinking, he went and propped the sack up against the wall, "…I'll just leave it here."

"Thanks!" Said Bulma, "Hey, stay and have a drink with me?"

He reached across his body and scratched his arm absentmindedly, "I don't know if I should. I mean, I don't wanna piss off…uh…annoy Vegeta."

With nauseating girlishness, she giggled when he corrected himself, "You can swear if you want to." Her gaze travelled down the length of his body before returning to his face, "It's not like you're a little kid anymore. And please, ignore Vegeta. This is my house and you're always welcome."

"Thanks." He said. "But the last time I was here, he got the wrong idea and I don't want that to happen again."

She tilted her head, "You've been worrying about that stupid little comment all this time, huh?" She took a step forward and threw her hands up with playful conviction, "Well, screw what that jerk thinks! Come have a drink with me? Please? I miss our little chats. Your mom and dad are so busy with the farm, I hardly get to see them anymore, or any of the gang for that matter. Truth is, it gets kind of lonely around here."

His expression lightened, "You're right." He sighed, "I've been silly. Vegeta was probably just joking around."

Bulma smiled victoriously, "That's more like it!"

Having cleared the air, they laughed and chatted all the way to the kitchen while I followed undercover.

Everything seemed perfectly innocent; right up until the woman delved into the fridge, "You like Vodka?"

Gohan froze like a child that had been offered candy by a stranger, "…I've never tried it."

"That's ok." She said, as she pulled out the aforementioned alcohol, "I'll mix it into some juice; you won't even know it's in there."

"I don't know…" He stared at it with great apprehension, as if it had been distilled by the devil himself, "It's not exactly legal for someone my age."

She winked, "Well, I won't tell if you don't."

A lopsided grin spread across his face, "…Ok, great."

They went into the living room, each carrying a glass, and sat down on the sofa together.

"This is nice." Said Bulma, "These days, I don't have a lot of fun stuff to talk about but it sure is good to have company."

"Same here." Said Gohan, "Seems like all I do is go to school and babysit Goten."

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, "It must feel wonderful to have Goku back after all those years in the other world; you're one big happy family again. I'm still amazed at how well little Goten reacted to meeting his daddy for the first time; no tears, no mood swings, it was love at first sight. He's the coolest five-year-old I've ever met." She smiled, "….Since you, that is."

At the mention of Kakarot, Gohan took a large mouthful of his drink and, although there was a hint of something begrudging and insincere in his tone, he agreed that it was good to have his father around. Apparently, Chi Chi was much happier for it and he was great with Goten.

"Dad would like to spend more time training with him but the little guy's in a steady routine and we don't wanna mess with it."

"I get that." Said Bulma before raising her glass and taking a sip, "Anyway, what about you? How's school?"

"It's going pretty well. Studying isn't fun but it pays off at exam time."

Slowly, she ran a fingertip around the rim of her glass, "…And what about?..." She shook her head, "Nevermind."

He arched an eyebrow, "What?"

"Well…I was just gonna ask how you're getting along with your little friend, Videl. You guys still hang out?"

For a second, the question stunned him, "…Uh yeah." He swallowed, "School's pretty hectic but we meet up whenever we can."

"Really? That's great!" She said, with an exaggerated tone that smacked of false positivity, "Hey, you should bring her over some time, I'd love to meet her. Whenever your mom calls, she always tells me what a nice girl she is."

Gohan gulped more cocktail until there was barely half left. He was probably hoping that it would fill him with Dutch courage but the alcohol failed to take effect in time and Bulma seemed oblivious to his red-faced bashfulness brought on by her increasingly personal line of questioning.

She crossed her legs and fiddled with her earring; poised as if to proceed with polite, inconsequential conversation, "So…have you and Videl…y'know?"

...!...

The unexpected enquiry into his sex life hit home like a spirit bomb. His eyes widened, he clenched at his knee with involuntarily consternation and Bulma quickly realised that she had spooked him.

Her hand clamped over her mouth, "Oops, sorry!" She then used said hand to fan her face, "That was way too personal. Ignore me, it's the vodka talking." Stilling herself, she sighed, "Man, I'm such a lightweight these days."

Eyes fixed on the coffee table just in front, Gohan cleared his throat, "We…uh…we haven't been dating for very long." He took a deep breath, "Besides, there's no rush."

Something wry and sultry beset my wife's expression and at the confirmation of the boy's innocence, I could practically hear her maneater instinct roar into life.

"Well, for what it's worth." She said, "I think you're doing exactly the right thing by taking it slow."

He glanced at her, "Yeah?"

"Sure." She said, "I wish I had when I was your age. Maybe then I wouldn't have wasted twelve years of my life on the wrong guy."

The kid looked on with interest as she swirled her drink around and gazed into the middle distance, "I'd just turned sixteen when I met Yamcha and let's just say, my panties didn't stay up for long afterward."

Gohan tipped his head back against the sofa cushions and stared at the ceiling, "…Lucky Yamcha."

Her eyebrows arched, "What?"

He immediately leaned forward, "Sorry! I didn't mean for that to sound the way it did."

"Don't apologise." Her hand landed on his thigh, "I like the way it sounded."

Panic struck and he looked around for somewhere to ditch his glass but Bulma took it and placed it, along with her own, on the coffee table.

Then she returned her attention to him, nestling in closer.

"Gohan?"

The kid looked choked up, terrified even.

"…Do you like me?"

Fists clenched at either side of his hips, he stared downward, "…No."

She blinked, "…Oh."

Disappointment extinguished the sparkle in her eyes and she shrank away from him. She opened her mouth, no doubt to apologise for making such an outrageous and inappropriate assumption, but he got there first.

"…I'm in love with you."

All three of us froze. And I suddenly felt so detached from the proceedings that it was as if I'd stepped out of reality altogether.

It reminded me of when I'd been killed. Specifically, the moment that exists between this world and the next, between pain and harmony, the familiar and the unknown. Yes, the surrealism of watching my wife seduce Kakarot's lovesick brat felt much like that but without the sweet release of death.

For the first time in months, he looked straight into her eyes, "…I've always loved you."

Bulma's mouth gaped and she stared at him as if he was about to combust. There was a long pause but, eventually, her cognitive functions shifted into gear, "Oh my God..." She murmured, "I had no idea that you felt so strongly."

"…When I was younger." He said, "I prayed that you'd wait for me. To grow up, I mean."

He whined about her break up with Yamcha, how it had given him false hope to believe that he could step up as her next suitor.

"Then I found out that you were involved with Vegeta." He said, "It felt worse than when Radditz killed my dad."

She stifled a gasp against her palm then let both hands fall into her lap where they fumbled together, "…I don't know what to say…"

He shook his head, "It doesn't matter. You probably never want to see me again; I've made everything weird now."

He attempted to stand but she pressed his chest until he leaned back, "Hold on." She said, "This is partly my fault…" She took a deep breath, "I kind've guessed you had a crush on me and I've been dressing up and flirting because it felt so good to have someone look at me the way you do."

He sat bolt upright, "Really?"

The woman came over all rosy cheeked and fidgety, hugging herself with one arm while using her free hand to play with her necklace, "…I'm sorry; I should've known better than to act like some immature school girl."

"Are you kidding? I've loved every minute of it!" He said, bursting with unbridled enthusiasm, "You're so hot!…Like, not just pretty, but ridiculously sexy."

"Gosh." She giggled, "I can't even remember the last time anyone said anything like that to me."

The boy's dark lashes swept up as he peered at her from under the spiky lock of hair that fell over his forehead, "I can't stop thinking about you."

With childlike shyness, she returned his gaze, "…I've been thinking about you a lot too."

He twisted his body toward her, "…Can I kiss you? Just to see how it feels?"

Her eyes turned to saucers and he looked thunderstruck.

"Fuck!" He buried his face in his hands, "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"…I'm not upset, honestly." She said, "It's just that no one has ever asked for my permission before."

They were silent for a few moments, staring straight ahead like a pair of crash test dummies.

With shifty caution, Gohan glanced at her, "…So, can I?"

I wanted to believe that, in the few seconds Bulma spent chewing her bottom lip and tucking her hair behind her ear, she was contemplating our marriage. But, even if that had been the case, it wasn't enough to thwart his charms, "…Alright." She said.

I was stupefied; though, strangely, not because of the imminent kiss. Rather, I found it bizarre to see a woman who I had only ever known to be fiery and domineering, reduced to a coy, tittering maiden.

The kid lifted his hands. At first, he went to hold her waist then hesitated while he second guessed himself. In the end, he grasped her shoulders and the last thing I noticed was her smile before he eclipsed her face with his.

Initially, I underestimated just how passionate the kiss was going to be. I predicted an unconfident mesh of lips lasting five seconds tops, but I was wrong. It went on and on and there was no mistaking the fact that his tongue was in her mouth.

When they finally parted, Bulma appeared a little overwhelmed.

"…Wow!" She gasped, "I can tell you've done that before."

"Yeah." He said, all breathy and dope-eyed, "But it never felt that good. Can I do it again?"

Her expression was one of sheer bemusement, "How can I say no?"

And with that, he surged forward, devouring her mouth and covering the top half of her body with his. Keen to add to the entanglement, she leaned back, gripped the nape of his neck and raked her fingers up through his hair.

The descending silence was eerie, broken only by the rustle of his jeans when he adjusted his hard-on.

Ten seconds later, he was at it again; then again in another five - pulling and tugging the ridged fabric at his groin until it became too much of a distraction for the woman to ignore.

"You ok?" She asked.

"Yeah." He said, "It's just…"

She followed his downcast gaze and gawked at the tent he'd pitched, "…Oh!?"

Surprise quickly faded and her mouth spread into a knowing grin. She swung her leg over his upper thighs, pulled herself atop, and wriggled until she had successfully straddled his lap.

"Don't worry." She said as she stroked his mesmerised face, "…I can fix that."

She kissed the tip of his nose, "…If you want me to."

He nodded stiffly, "Oh, God, yes." And met her next kiss with a groan of relief.

It was brief yet affectionate and afterward she sat back. The straps of her tight red mini dress were barely wider than those of her bra and she slid both lots down her arms until her bare tits jutted forward.

Truth was, Yamcha had gotten the best years out of those puppies. They were still in good shape by the time I came along but then she had Trunks and he took his toll during the breast-feeding saga. Bulma had stuck with it for three months before the changes started to show – darker, tougher, lower nipples; a slight spreading of the areolas. It never bothered me (I like asses more than tits) but she switched to bottle feeding and booked herself in for a boob job.

She'd maintained the results well. Uplifted and full, her tits sat proud of her chest and the hairline scars did nothing to dissuade me of their appeal; evidently, the same could be said of Gohan.

His dopey, sparkly eyes were transfixed on her nipples. Within his parted mouth, his tongue twitched and though the woman was beyond flattered at his incessant ogling, she grew impatient.

"…It's ok." She said. "I'm not wearing a do not touch sign."

He looked up, suddenly alert and seemingly lost, "…What?" Then, once his sex addled brain had deciphered her sarcasm, he concentrated on her chest as if it was a puzzle to solve, "Oh, right."

He grabbed both mounds at once, marvelling at how the firm tissue compacted when he squeezed and how her nipples felt like velvety, baby rose buds as he rolled them between his thumbs and fingertips.

Her back arched as she pushed into his touch, "…Mmm…Have you done this before too?"

"…Sort of." He droned, "Videl doesn't let me get inside her bra though."

She giggled, "That girl doesn't know what she's missing."

Scooting forward, the woman pressed her crotch to his and cradled his head, encouraging him to switch up his groping into an altogether more oral affair.

He took the hint and planted a few kisses between and around her tits then latched on to the closest nipple – grunting and sucking with the kind of urgency that screamed 'mommy issues'. I was surprised that it didn't all end, there and then, in premature ejaculation.

Bulma, on the other hand, had no qualms about indulging his voracious Oedipal foreplay. She played along, releasing long groans of appreciation, until she was led away by the desire to investigate the hard, denim-covered wedge on which she sat.

As she reclined, her tit slipped from his mouth. He lurched after the wet tip but a firm push to the chest kept him at bay while she wrestled with his belt. Doing so took enough effort that she grew short of breath and when she finally succeeded in unfastening the buckle, she beamed like a winning gameshow contestant, "Got it!"

Between his legs, she slid to the floor and unzipped his fly. He sank back, watching on in astonishment as she released him from the confines of his cartoon superhero covered boxers.

A column of shadow cast across her face.

Her jaw dropped, "…Gohan!"

She gazed up like a mountaineer at the foot of Everest and I felt my eyebrow twitch.

The bastard was hung like something that lived on a ranch.

It wasn't as if I felt inadequate in comparison. At best, he had a couple of inches on me. But the way the woman marvelled would have led anyone to believe that she was a complete stranger to the well-endowed end of the male anatomy scale.

Staring in wonderment, her mouth slackened and she curled her hand around his length as if to check that it was real. Within seconds, she had the measure of him. Her tongue hugged the underside of his cock's throbbing head then, inch by inch, she gobbled him to the back of her throat.

A deep, guttural moan escaped from the kid. Eyes closed, head back, he gripped the front of his seat cushion, and tipped his hips forward as her hand and mouth glided up and down, over and over, minute after minute.

The woman let up, "Look at me." She said, waiting until his punch-drunk face flopped forward before resuming her sucking, jerking double act.

"Nnnnrrrrghhh!….Ahh!…..Ahhh!…Oh God!"

Breathing heavily and repeatedly invoking the supernatural, he appeared to be seconds away from going off in her mouth. Had I been a gambler, I'd have bet on him lasting no longer than another ten.

And judging by the way Bulma swiftly ended the blow job, she too must have sensed that his release was imminent. Basted in saliva, his cock pinned up against his lower abdominal muscles and he slumped like a rag doll on a rocking chair. The woman stood and took a moment to admire her handiwork before taking hold of his limp wrists. As she guided his palms up her outer thighs, her dress bunched up around her hips then, between her nimble fingers and his heavy mitts, her skimpy underwear was dropped to the floor.

Gohan (and I) drank in the sight of her supple curves, flat planes and hidden valley with its neat strip of curls that stopped just above her slit.

The hairs were as soft as lamb's wool and a delightful place to stop for a pre-oral nuzzle. But rather than introduce his face to her pussy, the kid stared in dumb fascination until she mounted him.

Wriggling beneath, he pushed his jeans down and had only just brought them to his knees when she took hold of his dick and positioned the tip between her thighs.

He held either side of her waist and leaned back as if waiting for a band of angels to air-lift him to heaven; blessed all the same in having to settle for the second-best thing.

Slowly, the woman impaled herself; eyes widening, she sucked in a sharp breath, "…Ah!..."

Apparently, his size was a bit of an issue. Unable to take all of him in one go, she lowered with great caution as if getting into a scalding bath, "Ahhhh!...Ahh!"

One third at a time, his cock sank inside her.

"Ohhhhhhh God!" Her neck arched, "It…it feels like I'm a virgin all over again!"

Panting blended with relieved laughter until she finally touched down in his lap, "…How's that, Honey? Feel ok?"

Gohan's head lolled from side to side, "...Ahhhhhgh….I'm gonna cum…I'm gonna cum."

"Hold on!" She said.

Back straight, she gripped his shoulders like motorcycle handlebars, thighs straining either side of his, she pushed herself up and lowered in controlled, rhythmic motions as if riding a horse in rising trot, "Ah…ah…ah…ah…ah…." She rasped, "…. That's it…that's it!"

Sweat beaded above Gohan's furrowed eyebrows, his jaw clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut, "Bulma…I…I'm gonna."

"Go ahead." She panted, "It's fine."

But no sooner had she granted him permission than his grip on her waist tightened and he slammed her down to cum. Drowning out his strained grunts, "AiiiiiiIIIGHhhhh!" she squealed with a crack in her voice that chimed more of pain than pleasure.

The remedy followed with the leaking of his jizz. With everything hot and slick and frothing between her legs, her lust reignited and she fucked like hell, grinding her clit against the base of his dick.

Her head snapped back, her hair whipped between her shoulder blades, "Ahh!…Ahh!….AhhhhhhhhhhHHHHH!"

Erratic and atonal, her cries came out tuned by orgasm; while Gohan, with his flushed complexion, dilated pupils and eyelids at half-mast, rapt with her wild reaction.

The breathless woman fell forward to hug him and he, too, wound his arms around her and buried his face into the crook of her neck.

"…Thank you." He croaked.

"Ugh!..." She pulled back to cup his cheeks with both hands, "Gohan, Honey, please don't ever say that to me or anyone else after sex, ok?"

"Sorry."

"And quit apologising."

"Uh?...Right."

They resumed their embrace, basking in each other's afterglow while his dick softened inside her. Heavy breathing faded to contented sighs and then to silence which, in turn, was inopportunely broken by the clean-up operation.

A dozen tissues later, they had mopped themselves up and slipped back into all clothes and underwear that had been previously removed.

Bulma perched atop the coffee table and put on her stilettoes, "Guess I should go dig out some flat shoes." She winked at him, "I don't think I'm gonna be able to walk straight for a while."

With her leg stretched, she pointed her foot to emphasise her five-inch heels, "And these are deadly at the best of times."

Gohan's face was suddenly overcome with concern, "Did I hurt you?"

She stood and hooked her index finger under his chin, "You're so sweet." Raising up on tip toes, she rewarded him with a quick kiss, "That's one hell of a weapon you got down there." She said, "But I'm a big fan of heavy artillery."

He grinned, "…Um…I'm glad you like it."

She draped her arms around his shoulders, "So…" She said, "Think you might be available to keep me company during Trunks and Goten's play date next week?"

His face lit up, "Hell, yeah!" He cleared his throat and recomposed himself, "I mean, yes please."

She giggled, "Good, but for the love of God, stop being so polite, ok?"

As Bulma plumped the sofa cushions, she and the kid had an inapt conversation about formality and informality before deciding that coffee would be a good idea. And with that, they headed out to the kitchen as if nothing had ever happened.

Meanwhile, I remained planted to the spot.

I tried, God knows I tried, but I couldn't feel a damn thing.

I knew exactly how I was meant to react yet remained completely unresponsive. There was no rage, no jealousy; only the strange, calm acceptance that my rival's teenage son had just fucked my wife.

I'd seen it coming a mile off and, for the life of me, couldn't understand why I'd made no attempt to stop it. Each time I tried to confront my feelings towards her or her infidelity, my mind drew a blank. As for Gohan? He irked me; but no more than usual.

Convinced that I was experiencing some kind of delayed reaction, I waited for a minute; and then another. A quarter of an hour elapsed and still nothing.

I couldn't remain in hiding forever, that much was clear and, as I deliberated over my next move, I boiled my options down to three: confront, disregard or wait.

In the end, I chose the latter.