Perhaps it was curiosity that compelled me to join Bulma and Gohan in the kitchen, or maybe the desire to test my emotions. Either way, I remained perfectly calm and upon entering the room, received a warm greeting from her and a polite acknowledgement from him.
They had no idea that I had watched them fuck. And though I wanted it to stay that way for the time being, I thought (hoped even) that once they saw me, my presence might have triggered some feeling of remorse. But neither one showed the slightest hint.
We sipped from steaming mugs and while the two of them droned on about the origin of the coffee beans and the socio-economic situation in that part of the world, I tuned out.
That's not to say I wasn't paying attention to detail. A tissue, sodden with the remnants of their lovemaking, poked out from under the trash lid. When passing the boy, I detected the woman's perfume clinging to the neckline of his t-shirt. In fact, he still had a smudge of lipstick on his cheek.
Surrounded by evidence, I could have very easily put something of a legal case together right there on the spot and held them dead to rights. Throughout our little coffee break, that idea amused me to such an extent I had to hide my smirk behind my cup. But no matter how many times I rehearsed the bust in my head, I couldn't drum up enough motivation to put it into action.
And yet, through the inertia of it all, a creeping sense of self-disgust hovered around my psyche and taunted me for being weak and passive. In an attempt to save face, I reassured myself that there was no need to react at once. I knew where the kid lived and as soon as I had decided upon a suitable course of action, he would be dealt with; along with my wife.
And so, the rest of the day passed uneventfully; although, I quickly realised, after Gohan went home, he and the woman were communicating on the sly.
Over the week that followed, she spent an inordinate amount of time sauntering along the hallways of Capsule Corp, never once looking up from her cell phone. A whole lot of smirking and lip biting accompanied countless text messages and there were several late-night phone calls spoken in hushed tones while locked in the bathroom. When feeling more brazen, she'd join me and Trunks in the living room and there she'd sit, bashing out replies on her laptop to whatever sleazy, soppy, bullshit Gohan fired at her.
Not that I spent every waking hour keeping watch.
My usual routine, which consisted mostly of training, went ahead unbroken. If anything, I found a whole new appreciation for the structure added to my life by all those gravity room sessions and meditation excursions to the wilderness.
And because Bulma was so pre-occupied, Trunks sought to spend more time with me. High-spirited and bright, his company brought a new and not unwelcome dynamic to my days. He requested an increase in the intensity of our sparring matches and to be taught some dirty moves (just for fun, of course). Although, after I demonstrated how to carry out an elbow strike to the back of the neck, he didn't ask again.
Saturday came around and I felt no different about Bulma and Gohan's fuck than I had when first witnessing it. But rather than dwell on it, some bizarre compulsion, a kind of warped intrigue, had me taking cover to watch as the dance began once more.
The half-breed brothers arrived and as soon as Goten and Trunks had trotted away, Bulma greeted Gohan with a wry smile, "I have something to show you in the pool house."
She took him by the hand, giggling as she led him away.
Due to having a six-year-old that enjoyed playing hide and seek, the building in question was kept locked at all times. As its name suggested, it housed a swimming pool along with a hot tub, cocktail bar and various kinds of seating and tables. Trunks was only allowed in under strict supervision and though I felt it was an extreme overreaction, Bulma and her mother had ganged up and insisted that we simply couldn't risk his safety. No matter how much I laboured the point that the boy could swim, fly and turn super saiyan, they clung to their irrational fear of him wandering in and drowning.
With its locked doors and closed shutters, it was the perfect love nest for any couple seeking privacy. I should know; over the years I'd fucked Bulma in the Jacuzzi so many times that I'm sure at, one point, it became more sperm than water.
I raced to grab my copy of the key and let myself in before she and the kid could get there and from behind a stack of sun loungers, I braced myself.
Seconds later, the two of them entered; whispering and tittering before collapsing on the giant, hooded rattan sun lounger which overlooked the pool.
He stripped to the waist and climbed on top of her, tongues knotting as they kissed. With eagerness hinging on desperation, he reached up and under her skirt to tug at her underwear while mouthing her neck with hungry toothless bites.
And though laughing along, she pushed him back, "Wait, wait, wait."
Halfway through unzipping his fly, he paused "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, of course not." She said, "It's just that we have plenty of time to get to the main event."
"Oh?..." He straightened up and sat back on his heels, "…I thought you wanted to uh…"
"I do!" She said, "But you know what comes before that, right?"
He cocked an eyebrow, "Um? Kissing and stuff?"
"Ok…" She settled back against the pillows, "So, tell me, what's your idea of stuff?"
He blushed and broke eye contact while his grin turned lopsided, "Fooling around with your boobs, like last time."
"Well, that's a good place to start." She spread her legs, ensuring that he got an eyeful of her scant underwear, "But can you think of anywhere else that might like a little attention?"
The kid stared but didn't move. It was as if he'd never heard of foreplay. Truly, he had no concept of the level of nuance that a man has to apply himself to in order to arouse a woman; the strategy, the creativity, the perseverance. It's easy for a woman, all she has to do is take her bra off and the work's half done. Unfortunately, Gohan was naïve enough to think that the deal was the same vice versa.
He knew that he was expected to tend to her pussy but was hopelessly sketchy on the detail. I could almost hear the questions running through his mind - did she want to be stroked? Inside her panties or outside? Penetrated? How hard? How many fingers?
Lucky for him, my wife was a patient teacher.
She gestured with a curled index finger, "Come here."
And without hesitation, he leaned forward, planting his hands either side of her torso and propping himself up as he covered it.
Gripping the back of his neck, she brought her face to the side of his and ran her tongue against his ear, "Touch me."
His hand dipped between her legs, pressing until she moaned.
"Mmmmm…" She laid back, "…Harder."
He began a slow rubbing motion; back and forth, back and forth, then threw a couple of circular movements in for good measure.
The woman's eyes fell shut, she stretched her arms above her head and grasped handfuls of pillow, "That's nice."
Braver now, and without instruction, he slipped his hand into her underwear and continued his ministrations skin to skin.
She laughed reassuringly, "Now you're getting it."
The praise thrilled him and at the same time, misled him to believe that he should carry on repeating the same movements over and over.
"You don't have to stay in one spot." She said, "Feel free to explore."
A vertical crease appeared between the kid's brows and his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the firm yet tentative insertion of his middle finger into her cunt.
The exaggeration in her resulting gasp gave some farcical impression that she wasn't used to being entered and while he hung on every 'ooh' and 'aah', I almost had to stifle a snigger.
Her fingertip traced his jawline, "Do you like the way I feel?"
"Yeah." He murmured, "You're really wet."
She tilted her pelvis, encouraging his touch to go deeper, "So, give me more."
He retracted his hand, lined up his index and middle digits and pushed the two in together.
"Oh!…" She gasped (and that time she meant it), "Now, that's more like it."
With his hand contorted into a pretend gun, he fucked her with the barrel until, once again, she grew weary at being lavished with the same repetitive action.
"Put your thumb against my clit." She said through rapid breaths.
He turned his wrist and did as she asked before quickly running into a little technical problem.
"Don't stop!" Her husky voice was accompanied by the dramatic rise and fall of her chest.
"Sorry." He said, while wrestling with her lingerie, "These are kind've in the way."
She stroked the back of his wrist, "Then get rid of them."
He freed his hand and began tugging at the fabric running over each hip.
"Not like that…" She pushed her hair back from her forehead and licked her bottom lip, "Rip them off."
He blinked a few times, "Are you sure? They look expensive."
"Damnit, Gohan!" Her fist made a dull thud as she pounded the lounger, "Just do it!"
He looked a little hurt, nevertheless, he hooked a finger into her gusset and made small work of decimating the flimsy material.
The moment her pussy was bared, she jolted, "Ah!...That never gets old"
He was about to, once again, drive in knuckle deep when she reached up to stroke the bangs tumbling over his forehead.
"Wanna eat me?"
For a moment, he was dumbstruck but quickly shook it off, "…Sure, I'd love to."
Sure, I'd love to? I repeated his words to myself and baulked at his nerdish ineptitude. Only he could make agreeing to go down sound like accepting an invitation to a book club.
Fortunately for him, the woman was too excited at the prospect of what he was about to do with his mouth to care how lame anything coming out of it sounded.
Chest down, face between her thighs, he tucked his hands under her hips and pushed his tongue into her puffy, wet layers.
"Oh, Gohan!..." Her back and throat arched, her head fell to the side, "Mmm….mmm…yeah…..just relax your tongue a little, Honey….that's it…ahh…faster….Oh yes!...softer….don't stay in the same spot…..go back to my clit…."
I almost felt sorry for the kid. He was contending with the sexual equivalent of riding a mechanical bull and any time he hit the sweet-spot, she'd buck or writhe and he had to find it all over again.
"Do that thing you did at the beginning, but do it inside me."
Bulma had never been shy about asking for what she wanted. As a rich, spoilt brat, it went with the territory but bossiness didn't wash with me. In the throes of passion, she had often made demands – "Don't come up yet, lick my pussy some more.", "Talk dirty to me.", "Let me go on top." Sometimes I'd indulge her but mostly, my instincts drove me to dominate.
Gohan, on the other hand, kowtowed to her every utterance. And like an obedient little sub, he formed his tongue into a stiff hook and plunged it into her sopping depths.
She slotted her hands into his hair, "Ahhhh!"
As he went all out, the pressure of his mouth pushed her whole body backward by a few inches. A long, pitchy mewl was his reward for angling his head and screwing her with the full length of his tongue and then, tugging at his shoulders, she panted, "Come back to me, Sweetie. I'm ready for some dick."
He unplugged his face from between her legs, knelt upright and went to wipe his mouth with the back of his wrist but she sat up and stopped him with a series of hungry, she-cum clearing, kisses. One on the chin, one either side of his mouth, one above it; finally, she Frenched him with such depth that he put the unfastening of his pants on hold. When she broke away to shed her top and bra, his expression was a picture of astonishment; although, I couldn't be sure whether he was marvelling at her tits or the fact that she enjoyed the taste of her own arousal.
She settled on her back and trailed a finger from his collar bone down to his navel, "Give it to me slowly, ok?"
He acknowledged with a slight nod and tipped forward. One nipple after the other disappeared up into his mouth while he mauled the surrounding mounds. Quiet and restrained, his suckling was infinitely more civilised than last time and the abandonment of her tits met with far less reluctance. Pressing his forehead to hers, he pushed his hand between the crush of their bodies to rummage in his boxers. A second later, he hauled his dick out and fed the tip to her sodden cunt.
"Ahhh!…." Raising her legs, she pointed her toes and rested her heels on the back of his thighs, "Mmmmm….Oh! Fuck! That's soooo good!"
His mouth hovered over her throat, alternating kisses with little grunts as he rolled his hips, forging into her one inch at a time until he was balls deep.
"Mmnh!….Such a BIG boy!"
I'm sure the woman's appreciation was genuine, but all of that sounding off was more for the benefit of Gohan's ego than it was about expressing her pleasure. I didn't mind a few vocal accompaniments during sex, however, I never much cared to listen whenever she'd fawned over my size or technique. And anyway, when I'd been on the job, I made sure that she became so breathless and overwhelmed that she lost the mental capacity to ply me with flattery.
I got the impression that the kid enjoyed the racket but other than boost his confidence, her gushing commentary did little to aid his performance.
He was all over the place. Sexual positions don't get more basic than missionary, but because instinct alone drives without steering, he spent most of the fuck bucking and thrusting to an erratic rhythm.
The woman's ragged breaths scattered in the air, against his neck, face and shoulders, "Ahgh!…", She placed her hands against his chest, "Do me a favour, Baby; keep it smooth, ok?"
His pace slowed almost to a stop while he had a rethink, then his hips began to rise and fall with a consistent yet calculated tempo, "Like this?"
"Don't ask questions, Honey; just do it."
He complied and she was soon writhing and making more demands, "Harder!"
Swift and enthusiastic, he got to it and owing to the oral stimulation from earlier, she came in great heaving breaths many seconds before him.
Basking in the aftermath, they lay side by side in silence until Bulma's dirty little craving kicked in.
She reached for her purse, "Mind if I smoke?"
"…No." He said, slightly disheartened, "But I wish you didn't. It's really unhealthy."
"I know, I know." She said while rolling her eyes, "But it's not as if I'm addicted. I just like one now and again."
She often lit up in bed after sex; I hated it but she was a grown woman and I wasn't in the business of sermonising.
Blowing out a dusky plume, she moved her hand in his direction, "Wanna try?"
He shook his head, "No thanks."
How interesting, I thought. Screwing a married woman was fine, but a quick drag on a cigarette was a step too far? And I thought my moral compass was a mess.
They relaxed in each other's arms and after a whole lot of sweet nothings and second hand smoke, they cleaned themselves up and left.
And once again, I was left to mull over their actions and my lack thereof.